Swallows, House Martins,
making nests under the eaves;
you glance, too busy.

Alone on a bench,
things in mind, as yet - unsaid;
weeds find cracks to grow.

Flowers, by the path;
blue - so overgrown. Today
we go no further.

Dried stalks of grass stand
in an old ink jar, writing
yesterday's words.

Whoever called it that
never knew.

The colors are beyond real - just
like they are in dreams. But dreams

never come back on you, not
as dreams.

The rattling whirr
of the projector; the couple

walking into the distance,
taking everything with them.

Everything.

Snake skins
slough-off

in the dark
- each

  the friction of living

I could talk about the fallen.
Pink blossom

lying on the green grass.
As if the fall of something

beautiful
something

you might cry
"innocent"

meant
something.

Or
I could talk about the flowers

"smothering the branches of the tree"
thickly. As if

they symbolize love.
Or something

like it -
fecund

fulsome
bright. We

could praise the Lord this way.
Some King

of some Heaven. But
that would be an image.

A pale reflection of our hope
for the wind-

fallen seeds.
But

it's just a tree.
Not a glance upon the face

of some deity;
a piece

of eternity.
Why

make an image out of love?
Isn't love

enough?

Wreaths & Sprays

Fancy Bouquets

All the promised

days

"Hey!
Hey Lady!
Lady! Hey!"

Words approximate to:
are proximate to:
Subways.

Tickets and newspapers and lights
and people not talking but
silently listening.

[Woman]

Numbers are doors into places that
are yet to be
are not yet been;

are ahead
are rolling ahead
are ahead of us all.

Emptying streets in the sunlight as
something important happens with
outcomes - unknown outcomes.

Beneath everything they say:
nearly everything that is said:
acknowledging what appears to be said.

"Do you think we need to lose some weight?
No, really -
do we ?"

Where did they go with that why
Nothing was said to nobody
Who didn't hear?

[Woman]
- Travelled so far

Additionals attract the many.
Fewer are the fewer and fewer.
The subtractors haven't.

Gather no moss ye rose buds
Ye flying clocks
Melting onto these tableaux

What is it
Is it
It is

How far down do they plumb
This line - how long
Strung along

[Woman] so very far
Yet still so very far
To go

How far?
How to say how far?
How to say?

To the end of anything at all -
What
When

is this then the end
of the end of things,

lady?

It's nice having new snow
covering the back garden
in the morning

like a visitor has come
bringing things

good things

not expecting a gift
given back