Willow trees wept
in a grassy glade
Gold a glowing cloud
sun fingers made
Below quiet waters
ran dark as death
No sound no wind
no summers breath.

What dew on the petal,
Who’s moisture before,
Found solace in my uncertain plight?
She of soft flesh,
Her black and white sense,
Will I see her again,
In the stars of the night?
Ideas do drown in spasms of light,
Where poems lay down to die,
But I,
I am slight,
One with, but apart from the night.

Shall I dismiss the coming of winter,
An old man bent with burdensome thought?
Shall I forget the fall that found me doubting?
From autumn weans a cold December,
the meanest month of all.

Have you ever been where raindrops fall
in shades of purple gold and blue,
where in the clouds such beauty sings
of breezy days in June

Have you ever been so light and free
of human bonds and plight,
to laugh aloud with a pleasantry,
that blooms within you bright!

Have you ever been alone at dusk,
to see the lonely moon,
and wonder where it finds such light,
to brighten up your view.

Have you ever been where raindrops fall,
in shades of purple gold and blue,
and if you have did they rain,
their beauty down on you?

For May,
Feb, 1989

His bathrobe fell open in dust-colored folds,
the texture of his shadow now wrinkled and old,
And he was worn and tired and weak and cold.

Staring hard at that foggy face in the mirror,
His reflection a future prediction of death,
Eyes open uncertain at his intruding breath.

I so much out of touch
of these humanities affairs
Caught listening for every lisp
every subtle shift
of social media cares
I so thirsty for the feed
Of my ego-maniacal need
For outrage hard and crisp
Me scrolling through long lists
Of new postings every day
All in search of mean things
I so joyfully hate to see
Speed-reading my frantic way
Through an obsolete humanity.

I needed you
But shall never forgive you
Oh long shirt sleeves that I wore
You always got wet,
With tear-stained regret
And furthermore,
Love lost traveling by sleeve ends
Always proves hard to forget

The words
drop from the sky
are tangled in trees
fall to the ground
and die
So I
desperate to create
make the mistake
of bringing meaning
to their life.

Why so does peace still leave,
When old loves then refuse to fly?
And shall your light then conquer all things,
A prism of impossible pain and sheen,
Until my sudden longing leaps,
Strong at the sunsets peaceful calm,
Only at last to taint my love,
And fall aflame like a sacred star,
Because my love had flown too far?

High heat, in a Bogota alley,
A man lies still, a bullet in his chest,
The blood wound glows red-hot,
Life seeps, drop by drop,
As he lay lonely in the ally’s damp sweat.
Fire stairs tower all around,
sun scorched at their rusted red heights,
And I,
I slept like the dead.
I dreamed of a midnight dance,
in my home, gleaming light,
young girls decked in flowers and lace,
sharing their dreams with breathless delight.
But one alone sat there deep in thought,
not part of this joyful scene,
Why her young soul, who knows,
was plunged into the saddest of dreams.
Her dream, an alley in Bogota,
an alley where a friend lay un-seen,
a black wound in his chest,
seeping blood, a cooling stream,
As I,
I slept like the dead.

I see the spirits gathered at my side,
Speaking their oblivion tongues,
Grieving for my flesh so fine,
Who next shall they long for?
Death-rattles in my hall.

As my temperature rose
at indifferent eyes
a cold breath tried to escape,
as steam from my imprisoned smile.

In a quivering of lips
While our eyes converse
distance closing
until nothing was there
but a shaft of sunlight  
in the scent of your hair.

Silence now,
subtle shock of your words
lying lose on an indifferent floor
sweeping slowly, I scatter them,
through the light of the open door,
Floating whispers in the breeze.  

And no more.

The roses on my doorstep
overtake the sidewalk’s growth
tomorrow I shall plant more sidewalk
to better expand my rosy show

Her song is one of sun and wind,
Much lighter than a butterfly's wing.
On brighter days she may pause to listen,
For lovely thoughts and fragrant things.
I'll never know her beauties business,
Myself being only an earthly thing,
But still I'll gaze in wide-eyed wonder,
At the beauty of her butterfly wings.

Oh stormy eyed woman,
Only dark and desolate places,
Can bear your clouds tonight.
Like a young and petulant child,
scribbling quick with curious hands,
The colors of your cloudy traces,
leave silver lightning on our faces.
Patient as water turned to ice,
motionless trees within the night,
Sigh in longing for a bright sunrise.
Only those who perish a bit,
Can bear your crackling light.
Impatient though,
you won’t stay long,
Blowing westward to the call,
Of distant fields in thirsty song.

I view you move, a luxurious dance
on paper the pen, has merged with my hand
I see your vivid, yet blurred velocity
The desk where I sit, now creaky and cramped

I see your languid, nubile sensuality
My eyes two windows, of a lover’s glance
I see your delicate, curves of simplicity
Feet once mobile, now rooted they stand

I see you gathering, spring in your arms
My vision awash, thoughts colliding but soft
I see your effortless, beauty take flight
Now quieted mind,

What now should I long for,
In life?

And in this eternal dance,
Through gardens delirious I wander,
thinking forward, slipping in,
running water mixed with sin.
Slowly I loose my sight,
In the greenery within,
Those tendril thoughts now winding,
To satisfy my longing.
Could it be here then,
That the clay of my being begins?