Inspector Dork was not pleased with himself

he had interrogated everyone in the house
only to be knocked down by
impenetrable alibi

Spouse Susan slept soundly through the night
and was awakened in the morn
when the alarm bell rang in his room

Daughter Debby's room was a floor down
she was up with her studies
plugged to earphones

Son Simon was out for the night
he was at his friend's place
for a birthday party

Maid Maddie made his bed
when the clock in his master's room
was chiming ten

Butler Bill having served a glass of milk
closed the door behind him
and retired for the night.

Inspector Dork was about to leave the victim's room
when his eyes fell on the clock pendulum

it was not swinging

he knew who was lying.

Cool cloud shrouded air, here where I find myself
surrounded by giants, legends, these mountains
I am miniscule as one grain of sand
the people here are giant, green saguaros
holey, with birds that live within
they are fit with wild reaching arms
guardians of the desert land
anchored, deeply grounded
in this whirling vortex
unhurriedly they grow
blooming yellow flowered
with petals that pale and fall
they are true friends
that I have come
to know

off the asphalt
five miles down south
she catches prawn

her skirt the catching net
feet quietly feather weight
she looks a muddy heron

beneath sky grayish pale
swimming wind with fishy smell
on her no man's patch

intent on her solo search
head bowed down cutely arch
she must have her catch

streaks of mud on her hair
only what she does care
a bunch of wriggling store

fire it up when day is dead
have the catch thinly spread
and nothing more

When we look at what is already spoken,
the words cannot live
if contained.
Hope becomes all we want
as our souls become awake
in air unstained.  

If we stop and count the words
they become elusive
and still hours later
we remain unconscious.  As if we are asleep
exhaling each fragment
unresponsive.

Can we wear our heart on the sleeve
of our emotions
to keep our body warm and moving?  
When do we realize
where the point of here
is beyond that which is soothing?

If we talk about that which we love
giving our full attention
to each dream as it exists.
Would our laughter
become a shade of secrets
or a storm of words wrapped as a gift?

From grass and stone I am shepherd of herds,
as of grass and stones have come these beasts;
and of my beasts, I soon shall be,
keeper and kept wound into thee,
Oh Grass and Stone from which I have come.