You cannot waste a word
it is made from breath
released as an airy nothing
an elusive shy and singing bird
that only lands
once it is seen or heard

The past is a smell of gently frying bacon
in a house with a green front door
you were too young to remember much
except a dog named Sandy or Rex
it licked up the ice cream you dropped
and someone kind
that you cannot bring to mind
wiped away the tears
from your sticky infant fingers
the memory is gone
but the perfume lingers

Curious clever beings us
blessed with the gift of reason
an ability to sit and think
and that is what has brought us
to the very brink
our talent for deduction
and logical construction
may ultimately sow
the seeds of our destruction

When the mind lies fallow
do not weep
or think all birds have flown
from bitter dying earth
where nothing grows or ever shall
calm yourself
your barren land is merely sleeping
thoughts like seeds must wait
and feel the warmth of spring before they flower
they will come again
to drink the light and taste the air
green shoots
from roots you never knew were there

Poem
a drink of words
sometimes shaken
stirred with thought
the cocktail
is you

It's hard to chase the shapes of sleep
those grey elusive foggy sheep
who graze upon the fields of night
they wrap themselves in dreams to hide
while tired eyes stay open wide

what work is this
who spoke with warm and loving breath
to charm the birds and wake the trees
who stirred the breeze
on bleak and barren land
who turned a skilled and knowing hand
to thaw the frosty frozen ground
who cast the springtime all around
and caused the sleeping plants to grow
who's work is this
I do not know