We
howled and howl at the moon!
you did not condescend
or turn into a hairy wolf
you talked of life and love
and how to mend steel tendons
How
we will miss you, not eating
withering away like fall leaves
while the sky cries tears of rain
your voice getting faint in the wind
as your presence like mountains loom
Grandpa
we who love you cannot bear
our thoughts are past sad
our hearts are heavy with losing
though you have always born
and reborn us in you

-cec

Honey from thyme ―
sun shimmies summer's morning
stirring the mind's hive to its labors
shifting leg's chores to the wing
in flight of floating aerial lines
to plot of pink and purple anchorage

no silk to swing upon its travail
dear bee, fueled by golden cakes
aviates air's curves and troughs
in one sixtieth of an arc degree
of its calculated tiny soul
as plot of pink and purple anchorage

then angles promenade in mid-day sail
their dance transmit the call
an exponential 'pas de deux' channeled
through ancestral ***** music
to nourish generational ascent
anchored in this pink and purple thyme

-cec

left the water running
a slippage of the mind
how long it ran through plumbing
quizzed a liquid block of time

how swift the thought had faded
with fluid cascade views
of an otherness that waded
into ponds of current muse

as a conversation bubbled
and the tangents went astray
leading to the very bobble
that forgetfulness betrayed

-cec

these spent hands still toil
digging in this drawn soil
watching a worm stretch
and pull, stretch and pull
soon dusk will slip in
moving with grains of sand
casting small shadow bands
over this garden tended
and overgrown with love
this bush rose red bloom
holding a waiting perfume

-cec

all the colors rule —
in long cylindrical forms
cast onto desks, holding cups
wood, metal, lead, black ink blue
jars of fluid alphabet soup
stirred with thoughts, dreams
dipped and scribbled on stave
or ancestral bones written
Here our tools, our daily read
stripped from stone wall stead
this savoir-faire to: Dear Sapient

-cec

when violins play
sound becomes a miracle
taken: from a cat's gut
horses' swishing tails
tree spirits and spine rosin,
flying into the air
climbing infinite heights
to land in patterns
on these confluent tarmacs
of hearts and music

-cec