Sunflower Soliloquy

[photo credit: Norma]


I was before,
Will be again,
As I am, have
Always been: what
Seeks the sun,
The roll of
Earth; what keeps
Its course from
Birth to birth;
What can in
Combination be an
Art that must
Dismantle me.
To be --is not the
Question here.
I know that
I will reappear.

Remembering Dreams

[photo credit: son David, St. Malo, Fr.]

Travelers hope.
Space, span
Enclose hope
Enroute to
Better times,
In us, in
Old gardens.
Old gardens
Are monuments
To eccentricity,
Creation astonished--
A glowing gasp
That draws
Stars and soil.
What emerges hopes.

Figurine Mystery

Usually find them after rain.
Sometimes it's St. Francis.
This time, Buddha.
Once it was a rubber Yoda.
An algorithm reveals a surd.
A human considers God.

In an infinite set
Are as many of one sort
Of thing as of all sorts.
Impossible to imagine one's
Place completely, but we
Are at least included --
Preferable to a finite set
In which we are not.

Because I don't ask,
I don't know who sneaks
These little goobers in,
But they remind me
God is an infinite set.
So our ignorance of ourselves
Is a pretty good sign.
I'm waiting for a
Foot-high Einstein.

Nexus

[photo credit: Norma]

On earth
A string of brass bells
Hangs from
Mulberry branches.
Everything has its birth.
Rounding dawn
Dreams back its
Trillion years.
Old red stars in
The cosmic spine
Barely displace darkness
Now, persist in
My garden roses.
What disappears from
Light, shadow exposes
From antiquity,
Remotest night,
In wind where
Little bells emit
A melody to what
Is still suspended
There.