The breakfast nook brightens,
suffused with impertinent sunlight,
arrogant, intrusive, disrupting dystopian
anticipations to dare yield the repressed,
now untethered from their despondent moorings:
grinning, chubby-faced sunflowers
electing a cadenced dance,
the pump, pump, pump of Hip Hop
thumping behind bodega counters,
the ponies of Assateague,
slick with lather and hope,
denuded thighs shifting in languid heat
atop hillocks of powdered sand,
the Jack Russell hurtling skyward,
disc clenched, her smooth white coat
suspended against nimbus curls
tossed carelessly upon a blue-black canvas,
Aquinnah, hallowed, striated escarpment,
resplendent at the shank of day,
fireflies, ice cream, and the irresistible beckon
of the evening pines that rock to the day’s completion,
whistling, familiar, reassuring.

a light

in the dark

My tired eyes,
my fatigued mind
falls slow and time becomes obscured by
the drowsy raven sailing sunset sky boulevard.
My phone is ringing orders and misdirection calls,
that funny little radiation box hollering voices
of somewhere, telemarketers in India, automated messages,
spurious connections anywhere but here.
The rain-shine of approaching April Wednesday
trails golden hues among the treeline being viciously
torn like a gradual atomic bomb flattening the hoary hills
and spectacular firs beryl in frequent times of showers.

Each day I hope for that fabled resurgence,
nearly a year my fingers have been crossed
while wars are still wars, politicians still politicians,
gods still gods. Everything is so still, silence among fury.
Carpet bombings, protests, genocides, reforms, riots, the drowsy
raven circles in view of the window and my thoughts cycle around
my washing machine consciousness wiping off the grit of untruths
of everywhere else but within myself. That seems to be the problem
with most people.

As the clouds roll in, as the sun subsides into darkness,
as my mind is clouded by that ever-expanding raven encompassing
night sky and nightmares, I realize I hadn't even gone out at any point
that day and probably wouldn't the next.
We've become so dull some of us.
Vacuums inside of vacuums.

Part I:*  *Caught in the eye of the...
The entrée of the storm and its' cyclonic winds,
have created a whirlwind of thoughts.
Because while the rain whips vehemently against ground
Life will be remembered as fragile, short and slippery.

The day, the beginning; the night, the end.
The storm is the only one that can take place
At both time points.
The storm has been from the beginning and will be until the end.

True to our love,
With her life began, and with it life will end.

Part II:  Calm after the...
Oh, dear friend, where are you?
For in this darkness that I lay,
I can no longer find you.

Oh, sweet Song of Storms
When shall you play in the atmosphere?
With your enticing melody, and beautiful sounds,
That break all the norms.

The storm ravages throughout the cities
That mankind has forsaken.
Rivers of endless chaos, destruction and
Despair…

And in the blink of an eye, the batting of a wing,
And a young maiden falling in love,
Everything is washed away by the beautiful storm.