is it a god
or a black cat that crosses
my path in these woods?
am I cursed, sainted, lost,
or simply trespassing?
-
Day 20
-
Day 19
that dark corner
may recall years past as it sighs –
drowsy, in a haze –
that I was here writing long
into its unwinding future -
Day 18
gray tree branches
hover over dried-damp grass –
last year’s growth –
chimes ting on the steady breeze
remind us of life still here -
Day 17
I specialize
in making other people’s dreams
come true
because tending to my own
stings,
asks too much of heaven -
Day 16
how many times
have I walked through a drizzle-
dreary day like this —
ice floes across pavement slip me
quietly into their cracks -
Day 15: A new war begins
Wouldn’t daffodils
stay wrapped in their green shells,
hands hiding their eyes,
and inhale back into earth
if it were really time for war?But, alas, they
have no say, no predictive powers —
they sway with the winds,
bloom out of control — they only
have power to ask us why? where?It is a wonder
they are so kind to stretch bright,
to not curse us
or turn black in protest,
though their disobediencewould be a welcome
addition to our own.
Their resolve
would turn the world over
and hold firm in our darkest times.
Poems from in between 