Cars march dutifully like ants
On strings of suspended steel
Purposeful like tight rope walkers
And travel in white boxes
in the morning

Gleaming towers of ice rise
Sharp heads swathed in haze
Piercing dusty morning skies
Over a sea of diamonds

Tin can busses fill rapidly,
Stop.
And bleed like tuna.

Trying to feel the thinness of air,
Running through your fingers like silk
Gently pushing around you in a soft embrace
Intangible tendrils wisping around your face
Ever present,
And forgotten

JIMMY WIMBLETON listened a first week in June.
Ditches along prairie roads of Northern Illinois
Filled the arch of night with young bullfrog songs.
Infinite mathematical metronomic croaks rose and spoke,
Rose and sang, rose in a choir of puzzles.
They made his head ache with riddles of music.
They rested his head with beaten cadence.
Jimmy Wimbledon listened.

This is for all those young people who read here but perhaps might feel nervous about putting pen to paper*

Imagine what it would be like to launch a very small boat into a very rough sea. You will be nervous, you might well founder and start to sink.

But remember this, what you can't see are all the big safe boats surrounding you, ready to come to your aid and to point out your safest course.

One such boat is Wolf Spirit

Drawing the essence of the earth,
Up, but with trembling fingers
Spun thinner than spider legs
Quivering like a leaf in Autumn
But still, steady enough
To slowly pull out the thin, winding string
That bound you here,
Delicate like the first hope after despair
Longer, longer,
Until you can make a scarf,
Slowly twisting the ends,
And give it away
Because they needed it more,
And it will all be worth it.