Standing

under the rear door of the car,

sheltered from the rain.

Joy.

March 24 2024

Took my wife to see the crocus.

We could spot it, small white dot,

30 feet away by the sidewalk.

Wondered, should we walk all the way:

chilly, sun hide-and-seeking in the cloud.

We looked at the orange fire

half-hidden in the cup.

You really had to be right there to see it.

February 26 2024

One sign of spring's birth,

an earthworm drowned by the rain.

Half; full or empty?

March 4 2024

Lexapro

Not as many days these days

when I wake up praying help me

help me

help me

to a possible God.

I am listening to dawn

in the yawning trees.

Calling him away from scents;

is it like making him skip pages

in his favorite story,

the one he rereads every day

because there’s always something new?

If books were like that,

if they changed overnight,

would you need only one?

I can spend these steps in idle speculation.

Chill and cloud.

First dandelion, first turkeys,

first snowdrops, first crocuses,

first running storm-drains

washing winter down to the ocean.

I can deal with this.

March 11 2024

listening to one of life’s deep tracks

and remembering why I became a fan

March 14 2024

They aren’t trees.

They’re vines

and don’t you forget it.

Over decades they green and die

pulling down god knows

how many fence panels,

biting gardeners with their vicious teeth

for which no one’s truly prepared

and showing forth voluptuous berries

that might be poisonous but who cares,

and all that death and regrowth

seeming to happen at once

so intertwined that you can only

stand, caught, and marvel at

the way they brought you here.

February 23 2024

Recalcitrant

I can't fight the good.

Helping strangers infiltrates my soul.

Inside men set me up

to shovel out stuck cars for the elderly,

and toss friendly greetings from my hijacked mouth

like leaflets from a plane.

Turning away's no answer;

they've drained my vitreous humor

and poisoned my eyes with hope.

The enemy’s within,

planting peace bombs

and spraying happiness,

and wretched beauty stains the thing

I hate to call a heart.

January 26 2024

Only after he left did I find

an old favorite on the high shelf.

I had wanted to bring one

the last two times I saw him,

and now here it was, too late.

He could have read it then,

or then later I could have read it to him,

but now the only thing I can do,

and you can be sure I will try,

is read it for him.

April 30 2024