branches. A fallen red leaf
dances and glides. She broke off
and cut her ties. Carried by a breeze
over mountain, prairie and

trees. She hitches herself
to dreams riding the current
in streams. So far from her roots
she has flung. So long since

she raised her young. A buttery
sun warms her days. A cheesy moon
coats her in shade. She skips over
feathery ferns. He waits but she

doesn't return. A mosaic tile, her
pieces are small and freestyle. She's a
blood orange sky, a swirling candy
cane over ocean, rock and terrain.

dancing cha-cha
in your nose or a forceful
sneeze excited to let go would you
wipe me up with a cotton hanky?

If I was a cranky gale
blowing hot messing your coiffure
or a hangnail with spots and
a jagged edge would you file
me down?

If I was a pounding
throb in your head would you
lay me in your four-poster bed
and lock the door?

If I was a thick pile
of stinking manure
squishing between your toes
would you wash me away
with water and soap?

If I was a rope
would you climb? Watch the sunrise
over the mountain. See the eagle
fly around and catch our breath. We've
only this one chance left.

like a marble statue
in the art museum for
all to fawn over it. It does not
dawn on man that it can

not walk or even stand. It
sits encased by rope. Man cannot
touch the chiseled face. He moves on
like the black ink night. A silhouette

in the morning light streaks
her honey hair through his
bedroom window. Silence sits
low as the floorboards that creak

underneath the old man's
feet.  It squeaks like the mice
inside his walls. He does
not see them but hears them crawl.

we'll hopscotch the moon
eating chocolate bars, singing
out of tune. We'll pack wings
and head to the sky. But tomorrow

like a shower quickly passed
by. She says we'll meet
under the stars. She'll bring
the whisky, and I the cigars. I'll ride

the bike. She'll sit on the
handlebars. She says just wait
till the juniper berries stick out
their thumbs then we'll have

a merry time. It's not too
late! We're in our prime. But as I
look in the glass there's more gray
than black. Crevices rise when once

they lied flat. She says we'll rock
in her car, with the radio blasting
and windows ajar. But the only rocking
I do is in my recliner. So, tomorrow we'll eat

at the diner, binging on cheeseburgers,
wearing red lipstick and eyeliner. We'll talk
about when we were kids and hopscotched
the moon. How's about next year? See you in June.

short and thin, bending
to the wind. My head is
close to the ground. Green
as the grass I live in a tight

circle mound. Bigger than
a seedling, but not wholly
sprung. I'm just a pearl
that has yet to be

strung. No flowers
or fruit hang from my
branches. But I can grow
as big as an old farmer's

ranch is. If the cornflower
sky sprinkled me with a misty
kiss and the buttered *** sun
danced on my leaves I'd promise

you this. I'd rise to heights
tall as the mountains,
having an eagle build an
aerie on my branches. Spying

an eaglet scratch her way to the
the outside world from inside an egg
is joy. I cannot be cloyed by nature's
excess. To me, it only loosens the stress.

reddish-brown, dancing
around my dead nest that's
bombed, poisoned and fallen
to the ground. Still buzzing

where it hung. Stinging
men that stand near it. Strands
of it dangling down like colored
party streamers, swinging in

the air. My tummy balloons like
I ate a hearty meal. But I'm starving
as I spiel these lines. Smelling
of its death prickles me like

long needle pines. Rebuilding
on the splinters, on the shards of
what's been left. Not a pearl to
string. The brokenness has heft.

a tiny roll,
a planted seed of
an embryo. A fallen
dewdrop

on a green blade.
A hidden gumdrop
melting in the shade.
Just a whisper

dancing in the
wind. A glossy pearl
that is silver tinged.
A hiccup on a ride

wave. Jasmine star paved
on an angel's wing. A bead
of mist skipping bridges in
G-string. A splash of perfume

nesting inside a wrist. Curly
lemon twist hanging over
a V-shaped glass. Running
wax on the sides of  

a candle. A weathered sole
on a leather sandal. The piercing
silent movie scream. A tickle under
the armpit steam. A hatching nit in

wavy hair. A bit of her here
and there. A sniffle in the frosty
air. A breath cloud hung
in the circus sky. Elephants

marching, trumpeting
lullabies to the beat of old
father time, in the streets of
an uphill climb.