Category: Muse
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To annotate time
How it is that time moves in pieces that each we must note or touch or somehow move to mind How it is that life is nothing but time that moves forward in pieces we dare not not hold, but rarely even recall or know or grasp How it is that forever is only time…
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One day in Tangiers
when my feet were sore we shuttled as tourists do from one cobbled shop to the next fitting in more than we should seeking water, hoping for tea, and happening upon the oceanfront through the broken gate all suddenly familiar ruins piled in their own kind of beach head, covered with graffiti, teenagers tramping for…
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11/29
we long for peace it seems to surround us but perhaps it is only darkness falling with its uneven temper ——————— In response to Jennifer Knoblock’s plaintive poem, Winter.
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The Red Trail
you would think as you walk along the forest ridge this time of year there could be nothing more wondrous than the not yet faded royal of the sky behind grey-brown branches, the last leaves gripping on but then the trail edges west and beneath the sky a darker blue surfaces and below that turquoise…
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It is always the trees
it is always the trees I notice first perhaps because they are shorter, green in the wrong months, palm-leaved exhausted by the never-ending growth they cannot escape next, the grasses vining, matted odd outgrowths of flowers of unsettling crayola shades knock-kneed, longed-necked fowl I am transmuted towards a single of the thousand and one places,…
Poems from in between 