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Why Does the Storm
Why does the storm Always make me think Of you? Could you Roll through me Like the thunder, Saturate and flood me Like the rain? Maybe You have the power To give me life and Devastate me equally. Wouldn’t I love To have you Pouring down on me, Your hands and your lips Washing over…
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Reincarnated, Reunited
Some connections reverberate softly across distance and space, wending through the ether to rejoin an unseen other. When we met, I recognized you bodily, viscerally, my atoms greeting yours with a happy wave and a welcome-back hug. Perhaps my blood and your bones were once the same patriofelis, succumbed to worms and distributed across the…
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Refresh Me
After a long journey, I am parched. I want to put my lips to yours and drink you greedily like cold spring water overflowing my mouth and running down my chin. I will pour you into my hair and bathe in you. Revived, I will rise naked and glistening from your arms.
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Leaves in Flight
Oh to be an oak leaf dancing on a November wind, flying high toward the clouds, then tumbling gracefully down again to do-si-do and cha-cha with sister leaves, furiously twirling together, then slipping away, landing quietly on a rooftop somewhere before jumping up for another round! What joy–what freedom! –after a lifetime of clinging tightly…
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Slantwise
November always has me thinking of mortality–mine, yes, and that of all that lives– the withering, the drying, the slowing down until the eventual ceasing. But that blaze of slantwise light setting the maples aflame just before dinner– the bears filling up before slumber, the tiny wild creatures stockpiling acorns before the ground freezes over–…
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On a November Evening
The brilliance of November at dusk! Hilltops lit up like a box of flaming matchsticks, burning brightly beneath rose-gold and lavender clouds. I hope my dying is like a November evening, wrapped in a cozy, fiery glow, celebrating in quiet exaltation the apex of life. As my season of frozen, silent stillness approaches (for death…
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Ghost Moon and I Staring in Awe at the Changing Leaves
Ghost moon hangs suspended, translucent in the autumn sky, content as we–mortal, fading, too– to rest, breathless, watching the trees array themselves in the mantle of brilliance only allotted them for this brief season.
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On Beauty
I wanted to write something beautiful, So I looked around And tried to capture the splendor Of the sun, the essence of a spring blossom, The cadence of a robin, The nature of a cloud– But perhaps beauty cannot be caught, Or perhaps I don’t have the skill. Perhaps beauty lies only in the brevity…
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Sitting Among the Falling Leaves
The trees did sway In the breeze this way And that. And the leaves Did drop to the ground, Fall all around where I sat– The green and the brown, The red, orange and gold, They plummeted down– Like birds, so bold!– One landed on top of my hat.
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The Delight of the Bumblebees
One evening while wandering I came upon dozens of insouciant bumblebees recumbent in their Elysium, each holding to a pink-and-white flower, drunkenly sipping the dregs of its nectar, heedless of passersby. Each stem supported one bee and it was as if they dined there, each solitary despite their companions, so lost in their own ecstasy…
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