up the hill I go
on and on
up and up
I can't see the top

but that's not important
the journey is everything

by the campfire
alone in the night
with starry blanket
draped around me

looking down upon  the lake
I'm looking into the dreams
and the sadness
and the feelings

in the cold I shiver
in sadness , emptiness
I shake
Hush ! Lay down , go to sleep

From the rooftop
I see the houses sleeping in moonlight

(My chance ascent to the roof
for a space to be aloof
begets this poem)

I know this stillness is deceptive

behind the half glow neon panes
or the wooden ones shut tight from light
beyond the dumb walls of white
tears and smiles are flowing
also grunts of despair
moans of flesh upon flesh
stopping at the skin
or going far down to that misty spot
and even far past all them
two hearts holding the flame
of years buried on the bed
a child still in their head
or there but really not there
somewhere too wide to build a bridge

(Thirty minutes past nine
the toy houses in the moonlight shine
in their chambers holding life not seen)

And I atop one such house know
it's time to go down the stairs
to take up the script again
and write and act and write
for the length of night.

the pictures from the ISS
make it very clear
to everybody with a TV screen
    or a computer

our earth is a globe
    and blue
        and finite
            and in a delicate balance

determined by more factors than even
our most sophisticated computer simulations
can so far figure out

it makes you wonder
why
of all people
those who surely own more than one TV screen
    and a couple of notebooks & cetera
are the ones who deny
that they are
   destroying our rain forests
   polluting our rivers and seas
   poisoning our environment
   ruining our lives
   deadening our minds

maybe
    if they dare to set forth
    even a step or two
    from their isolated gated  habitats
    and walk in the real world
    they have created
they are able to begin
to understand