How is it this swirling,
tumbling mist of atoms and particles;
organize itself well enough
to write poetry?

The pride of the north
Yankee lasses;
Oh… those New England girls can love.
They’re not too prim and proper
for lust and lechery;
they learn their skills and ply them too
on dark, cold winter nights.
They’ll keep you going and keep you warm,
make coming in from the cold
all that much more...
delightful.

In the park out walking
all alone,
some foggy night.
In the shadows,
movement.
Shared glances;
smile, Hi.
We touch.

Jan. 10, 2006

A single leaf upon the wind
against an azure sky,
year's end.