porch

2014 setting out my back door…

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lost

i first find her
half naked
in the basement

chicago
1990s
i am just a teen
she was born
from cold marble vault
one hundred years before
i even sparkled
as they say
in the eye of the one
who birthed me

i watch her
that first afternoon
watch her long and slow
then come back one more time
i don’t understand how
i know her already

chicago
early 2000s
i race down
familiar flights
short on time
(always)
but determined
(obsessed)
and i watch her
i watch her all the way around
i caress her bare shoulder
and i shiver

when we meet again
on that chilly lower level
chicago
circa anytime
i will linger
and i will finally confess
what she already knows

the lost pleiade (1874/75) – the art institute|chicago

sabotaged

what to do
when sickness creeps in
sinks her teeth
into a dying year
ravaging the carcass

i wake bewildered
what day is it
what happened here
and how
did nature manage
to fast forward
when i already needed

more time

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monochrome

i watch it thru the darkened window
choppy clouds interrupting
velvet black sky
making disrupted golden glowing chunks
large and awkward
out of that smooth quarter of
silvery moon
which i pressed my nose to the glass
hoping to catch
shining down on you

black skies
i’d prefer blue
like i’d prefer lots of
minute details

if that’s not life…

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echoes

after the noise
shouted greetings
the lean-in
chin-down
say-mistletoe
posturing
posing
prepping
performing
fades to scrapbook
story telling
thing of the past

and the red foil
ripped away
crumpled
rolls unnoticed
under that favorite chair
a holiday tumbleweed

tiny needles
dried crisp
beyond rehydration
fall from piney branch
at gentlest brush
releasing glassy globes
from wiry hooks
into tupperware mausoleums
cheery coniferous symbol
resenting living room crucifixion
only to
await incineration

overhead
delicate silvery crescent
waxes
so beautifully
imperceptible
still cued by
God above
far lovelier
than tenderly packaged
carelessly unpackaged
trinkets
trappings

eternal vs. returned for a bigger size

cold
warm
snow
mud
nature flatly refuses
alteration
for our pronouncements
ignoring
even flouting
(proverbial tongue out)
gregorian assignment

in brief moments
of insight
we might remember
and let it be

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