my son is a better version of me

i easily break
he rides storms smilingly

i crumble in a crisis
he handles stoically

my emotions play loud on face
he hides it handsomely

i'm doubtful of exploring
he ventures courageously

i speculate on life too much
he bothers not seriously

We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.

years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.

Here the pines blush
in the cloud's embrace
the sky comes low
falls for earth's face

the winds kiss
long lines of wood
fog weaves dense
peace of solitude

Here the curves
meanders blind
on magical turns
stumbles mind

all inner demons
the high lands slay
on angel's wings
you fall love's prey.

To be privy to the language of
the trees , akin to the honey laced
backcountry , awash in the curative
morning dew
Knowledge of every young drop of rain ,
every newborn seedling ..
Master of the woodland trigonometry ,
songbird musicology
Raptor shadow figures circling 'neath
nimbus billowing blankets , technicolor
grasses , earthen molasses

The world wakes gently today
humankind taking welcome pause
from inconsiderate rushing
unfamiliar faces become fellows
on this travel day we share
a young brother and sister
and their sweetly doting
hijab-draped mother
her smile, the rising sun
sit down across from us
kids munching chips
before an early a.m. flight
the brother got the last bag
of Doritos, his older sister settled
for the sour cream and onion
she attempts to negotiate
a chip for chip exchange
little brother politely refuses
but after seeing her disappointment
grins and hands over the whole bag

the same mother and children
leave the empty waiting area
return to find it brimming
a young father and son
settled, bag-laden, it would clearly
be an inconvenience to move
yet he respectfully stands
and offers their seats
his gesture, a prayer
the young mother
flustered, blushing refuses
profusely thanking him
as she pushes the stroller
toddlers trailing behind
to a less crowded space
our eyes lock, we smile
and I know we're thinking
the same thought
the world wakes gently today
*and it feels good

Easy flow the waters
of the river passing by,

though we straighten them with walls
and narrow them in time,

and lace them up with bridges
to bind them where they lay,

still the waters, like a lifetime,
slip their bonds and pass away..

Out on the breakers
Eyes in the sea are watching me
But seals never speak

The sea birds are gulling
Always they argue over shells
I know how they feel

Long across the heath
The piebald mountains cradle me
But snows, they only whisper

The stationary stone village
Is thatched in chalk and grey wood
Happy in branch without trees

Eye in the sky is my mood
And I slip lazing into blue,
The darkest true of your
Eyes, who cast me away,
So unmerciful, in the tides,
Sometimes the moon locks,
Is master of mine and aye,
Of she am I made.  

Tonight, as you held me,
So white was my spirit,
Luminous as Lazarus' grave,
As the holey silence, some
Wraith of looks in the sky,
Sometimes the moon shows,
Wears my face and I hers,
Of she am I made?

The night is brisk and raw,
So heated am I next to you,
Ghostly sad and beaming
With joy at the indigo sheet
Of floating stars on the sea,
You hold my heart like faith,
Nebulous as moon in ocean,
Of these I am made.

The angels that you can and cannot see
float in and out of life so gracefully;
enfold in winged embraces one by one,
celestial comforters when day is done.
Some angels take the shapes of passers-by
so you might see the Spirit in their eyes.
A smile that lifts the day from the mundane;
a kind hand up, a loving act conveyed.
The unseen angels hover in the realm
where power manifested overwhelms
our common senses. There behind the scenes
they battle fears and reinforce our dreams.
Take counsel from a humbled man, once proud;
they only enter lives when they're allowed.

I am a borrower
collecting things that shine
all stashed in cracks and hidey-holes
where the rafters meet the roof
in the basement floorboards
lift one and you'll see
the treasures I've collected
two gorgeous glassy eyes
seven gilded antique buttons
a bouquet of sweetly fragrant lilies
a gleaming jar of pixie dust
three noble barristers
an Irishman netting butterfly dreams
a sorceress of the endless prairie
windmills like soldiers all in a line
the saddest porcelain doll
a small brown bear
trains screaming by on underground rails
a sprinkling of desert blooms
six jack-in-the-boxes so I'm always surprised
the hairless stuffed dog that bit me as a child
a Rickenbacker bass softly riffing the blues
a farmer's Ovation to accompany my woes
seashells that sing the ocean breeze
a merman from the Northern seas
tucked away in every space
packed within each sweet hollow
these simple pleasures I have borrowed