Where the Rain Had Gone

Yes, I wanted to understand
where the rain had gone.
Yes. Everything seemed so real:
Bumpers on cars, expected emails,
and mowers needing gas and walking.
No respite; no empty spaces for my soul to fill.
Precipitation's a cliche; okay,
but anything, just anything, 
easier than sunlight,
quiet as a stain,
transient but leaving something,
something to retain.

July 27 2014

Found Composition: Concrete and Paint II

Found Composition: Concrete and Paint

Stacking Stones

They began to see the value 
of stacking stones.
In places other than the malls
I noticed,
here and there, 
they began to build them
in yards
and at the ends of driveways.
Small towers,
of minimal pretension,
five or six or seven
high;
steady,
silent,
and meditative.
Through me there is a line, they say,
from earth's core to the stars,
and along it we are strung,
like beads on gravity's pendant.
You do not need to climb
or to descend.
Only witness.
Only feel our kinship.
Only contemplate.

July 13 2014

Last Night's

Last night's was about writing a poem at last.
It was so familiar:
repeating the lines to myself till I could find
a pen and a piece of paper. 
But along with it was knowing I had left 
my dog loose on the street 
at the foot of the sloping yard, 
beyond which stood the trees;
and I am sorry to say that I let him wait
till I had finished writing. Then,
containing panic, I called for him,
louder than I can really shout
until finally I found him in the house
sleeping under the laundry.
I was so relieved to have him back;
but this morning, of course,
I can no longer remember the poem.

July 13 2014