A flight of three crows
added to
a dense grey day

Next add four
iconic conifers
as high as the sky
eternally ******* down

These things are
always in my sight
through my window
on this wet world

Multiply all of this
by a sweet daughter
who makes me proud
and raise the whole
to the power of a strong woman
who carries us all
on her back

The equation produces
a result that I am 95 percent certain
equals happiness
though the confidence interval
is wide

And this result
sweet as it is
and as uncertain as it is
will outlive me
leave a faint echo in time
an echo that will bounce off a star
and finally be found
gripped in my shriveled paw
long after the epiphany
nowhere near paradise
somewhere short of
the end of the line

This is a moment of happiness
stolen from time
hijacked by a fugitive
from civil society

I'll hold it close
until death pries it
without mercy
from my hand

Leaves it as a blessing
and a curse
for all who come after

Take the blessing.
Leave the curse.
That's the advice I give
with my dying breath.
And I leave this to you
from the generosity
of my heart.
With a nod to
the scant traces
of God's grace
that I find on these pathways
of travail.

Never lost.
Never found.
Always present
and generous
to all.

Be that.

America, I cannot close my eyes
Nor sheathe my skin color-
Which is that of which she was
Built upon-
Which was that where my ancestors
Were left under supremacists.

Look out and see the restless
Peoples rising with tides
Flourishing under nothing's banner,
How the planet has shrunken
Destroying proud origins
And lamenting the absence
Of patriotic diversity.

America I cannot look
Out in the wilderness of words
That cross this poet daily
And not fathom a poem that
Crosses borders and enigmatic
Skin tones, that water breaks
Itself upon the stone,
Yet blood would stain its surface,
Yes the sacrifice of fools.

I cannot close my eyes
Nor change my skin,
Here in the land of dreams
And the spinster's lamenting
Polishing blue and red tears.

America, much angst is flowing
From open wounds from yesterday
And tomorrow that comes crashing
At the precipice of dawn's early light.

I hear your pain America,
I watch with a selfish pride
At the pain we share,
The differences that unite us,
The words that explode in freedom,
Your stars are not lost
Upon the impenetrable sky.

In your depths you are one,
In the bitter difference of eachother
Filled with children and uncertainties,
We shall not fall gently.....

America, I cannot close my eyes,
I see the beauty of our nation,
America I cannot change my skin,
Nor would I care to.

America, beautiful mutilated rose,
I am convicted as a patriotic
Fool,
America I cannot close my eyes....

America, I will not.

Despite the Bakelite ****
etched with a range of degrees,
the vintage Wedgewood oven
has only two temperatures:
warm and nuclear ash.
But **** it looks good—a sleek hulk
of white porcelain and polished chrome,
a 1950s Cadillac parked next to the fridge.

When the house is dark
the fluorescent stovetop
glows like a dashboard
illuminating candy wrappers and road maps,
and the kitchen soon stretches to landscape.

I wander in, whiskey in hand, and stand
on a road cutting across a darkened field.

Below cast iron burner grates
pilot lights flicker and burn:
blue seeds poised to blossom
when the Bakelite dials turn.

I reach for the bottle
and the kitchen ignites
into a meadow of larkspur.

Fragrant flowers
mixing bourbon;
I drink it all down,
let the blues drive.

She captures autumn
in a jar
reads the moon's straying
through leaf and branch

Always in love
with love
and always reeling
from the loss

What wave tossed this refugee
ashore?
What alignment
of stars and planets
of uncountable galaxies
brought this woman
to this world and not another?

A simple truth will tell.
The moon at high tide
hides beneath her skirts.
A slight disturbance
in the silken fabric
of space and time
and all is lost
all is born.

I hold my hands out
palms up
in prayer and thanks
every day
to mark the blessing
to place a peg
in the whole.

Given to all
denied to none
and mysterious to most

Life pours out of
a hole in the sea
leaves nothing
and everything
to chance.

This blessed world.

“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's
Game Room
War Room
Control Room

Fueled by a red T-shirt
proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince”
He flips out his cellular...

“IT ISN'T UP TO ME!"
(Where does he get all those broken remotes?)
...flips open his cell
and shouts commands

“TURN THE POWER ON!"

“YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control)

“Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss
THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!”

Drives his cruiser around the pool table
Pulls alongside
Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed

“GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING!
THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!”

An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear
and points a giggle

Dan--
the kind of guy whose life peaked
at Mount Saint Helen
Does a warlock for Halloween
Carries a portable showcase of horror
prized possessions in a dishpan
He explains his treasures

“That is NOT
a plastic scorpion!”

Offended by my ignorance
shoves it in my eyes

“THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!"
“CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!"

Dan sorta likes me
We talk horror flicks
He forbids the serious of me

"CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!”
he hisses in a spray of spit
Walks way, laughing, delighted!
Shaking iz head

Then back in my face again (for emphasis)

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
(He is dead serious)
"THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE
WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!"

His counselor fills in my blank
“Dan likes the Beatles
That's the only thing he likes
that isn't heinous”