Like swimming in molasses
trying to ascend
hoping to begin
to get where I want to be

Swimming in molasses,
can’t get there from here
as a robot in first gear
trying to go with the flow

Swimming in molasses
waiting for the gooey
mass to warm
for me to find my way

Swimming in molasses,
Grandma’s Gold Standard all natural kind
dark, black-brown viscid glue
that holds and restricts

I’m swimming in molasses
deliberate, lethargic,
lagging, leaden, swirling toward
the promise that awaits me

There must be a next step --
all middle steps appear broken

Spit out like a used razor blade
sitting with *** cheeks
barely on stone steps
face burning beneath the acne
swelling across the cheek,
It must have been her pimples
why else would anyone reject her?

Columbine came first
Followed by pink cleome
Pretty invaders

Self-seeding landscape rulers
Growing wild like Queen Annes Lace

My eyes played tricks,
not moving to the monitor
but pulling toward
that sound of sipping tea

The soft whooshing captured my focus.
Mind following eyes - -
I was on my back
basking in the sun - -
gazing at the clouds

Her emanation was sapphire blue,
emerald green tinged crimson
at the edges -  -
monitor and mind together went
blank. I sat in a trance
until the emotion crept

slowly up my neck then down my back.
She gave me a glance.
She finished her tea
shuffled some paper, left the place

A dancer without music,
the glide out graceful.
Her glimmering aura disappeared
as she faded into the day

Adorned once again
in somber black,
standing in a row
all inhale an aroma
of purifying incense
from burning charcoal
inside a Thurible
flowing in coherence
with the arm of the balding priest
who prances as a peacock,
circling three times past the altar table.

Buttocks bump against
weathered and worn
relic pews.
Muscles strain to tighten hamstrings
sending messages  
telling the body to please sit.

Tears flow without
the gush that erupted a year ago.
Now the gentle drain
is like shallow
hillside waterfalls in autumn.
Grievous pain is so familiar except
the lava of volcanic emotions
has cooled.
Tissues passed from hand to hand
as those who  anticipated
the display
take care of those
sure they would not cry
or who merely denied
the tempo of the day.

Incantations dwell near the icons
splashed gloriously on the wall.
Chants to forgive sins
of the deceased
combine with pleas
for divine intervention
to elevate the Valhalla home
upward a notch or two.
Blessed wine and sacred bread
distributed to all
who keep the faith
as did the beloved son,
husband, and brother.

Thunder rolls like
rocks banging down
a mountain creek
during a downpour

Sheets of rain
blow across the lawn
as splashes bend
pink coneflowers
toward the hostas
and paved avenue
becomes a fleeting river

Bolts of light
flash through the
window evoking
fear of a strike
and the smell
of sulphur

Now the cardinal
damp from rain
reflects full sunshine
True to its name
it sits like a flame
atop the iron pole
lifting the bird feeders

Parting waves
of distant rumbles
say goodbye

He stands before her
as surveying a Renoir, overwhelmed
by red splashes from her nails, her lips
Entranced by her sparkling blue eyes
and hair swept across her shoulders
its crackle, as wind blown fields of barley
Her words cool him as though
dipped in Box Elder Creek
Her moves have the grace of cirrus skies

He thinks this is a settling place
fit to build a homestead