I step on a grain-sized shard of crystal.

I spend a minute removing it
with my fingernails;
my thumb wipes away the red streak
forming on my sole.

the vase evades me memory... yet.
The fragments still draw blood.

I miss your smile so desp'rately;
I miss your eyes unbearably.
Your voice was just so dear to me.
oh what I am to do.

the spark of joy I long to be.
an understanding, realistically;
time marches on and ages me.
oh what am I to do.

I have done nothing to earn
the coveted gaze
your self discipline
eventually
diverts.

Just two pools of green
in a mound of pale flesh.
Nothing more.

Yes. Look away
fool.
Look away.

I rise and fall
but thru it all
you, alone, are there:

Wishing dreams;
swishing gleams
of hope,
sometimes despair.

I can't describe
the vibes
of joy and life
you bring to me:

I see,
I run,
I chase,
I hope

so very desp'rately.

a sheeplish jaywalker
followed confidently by three others.*

I swim through people:
laps in the waves of arms

doggypaddle through
people and their backpacks
their breifcases, dufflebags
hockey sticks, saxophones, babies

mohawks, fauxhawks
pleas for change, professions of Christ.

offerings of pretzels and
poorly aged hotdogs
cheap sunglasses, perfume

not one, but two delirious people
drift to sleep on my shoulder.

I swim on.

Ode
to the Red Line.
Thine gentle deceleration
doth end in fervent lurch.
I fall.

the Tree dons the frocks of autumn;
greets hollow absence of warmth
with gentle gestures of orange;
slipping softly to sleep
soundlessly swaying.

muted light: damp, cold.
a quiet submission.
good night, Tree.

good night.