Saturday, January 27, 2018


At first it could be
A granite cliff but 
If we look closely,
Isn't --only a fallen tree.
What we see in 
Adjusted distance, moss,
Mass, is black wood
 Over grass,
                 which seems 
To rotate from
Simple plane  to 
Lemniscate, and at
Its tip retain spheres
Of recent rain. 
In neither garden
Nor brain can we
Find any better 
Signs for infinity.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Theatre of Season in Change

How did it get so cold?
It can't be I have got
More sensitive,
Which leaves Earth
Farther from its sun --
One and all need to
Get out and push!
Where rain-rotted tree-
Leaves fell and froze,
Bulbs are rising now
And those lift to  bring
This show of spring:
We clap our calloused 
Hands, our hurting 
Hands --intermission 
Complete-- and return
To our seats.