By the Spanish Arch
a few kind crusty folks
talk in the March sunlight.

Soft incantations of sweet trad
spill from a concertina, tin whistle
and fiddle, sloshing out an ambiance.

An old fella' makes a poor man's black velvet,
The ladies drink Estrella Galicia and San Miguel.
Another lad jokes: my grief counselor died last week

but he was so **** good I didn't care.

A motley crew, good-natured and friendly,
Drawn to session like moths to a flame;
Always I wonder whether I belong.

"I think in his heart Frodo is still in love with the Shire:
The woods, the fields…little rivers. I'm old Gandalf.
I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it"

That bubble of a moon is 
playing peek-a-boo behind
the wispy night sky.
Confirming to me
everyone's lunacy.
Words stick to the
roof of my mouth
like peanut butter.
It could have been 
a better world,
I should have been a
better man.

January snowflakes
are like guilt falling from
the sky.
little frozen starfish...
cold and raw on 
the soul, and tongue.

  

.

~
Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.

There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.

Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.

There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.

A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.

The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.
~

Across the burnt field
I carry my load
I pierce the smoky expanse
my energy flags
I yearn for rest
but the burden gets heavier
I am alone
and slog for both of us.

I converse with my mind:
“Please, a small spell
to float this flood
to higher ground.
Find an ounce of push,
then I can unravel.”

A midnight exhaustion overtakes me
I lay depleted
at wits end
I pray
a surrender
concede
abandon
my self
gaunt, frail, devoid.

Before sleep an appeal
to a power greater than me
deliver me from these ashes.