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Soaring in hot wind,
a vulture gracefully flies,
looking for corpses.
When this song plays, I
always think of you. I like
the song anyway.
This bleak morning came
too early. And there were no
beignets-- just cold feet.
In my mouth the taste
is bitter. Searching my heart,
I found self-pity.
Dragonflies on rocks,
ants in crabgrass. Heat. Dust.
Summer's almost here.
Outside pulling weeds,
except sawthistles. To me,
they're pretty.
Outside pulling weeds,
a lizard scrambles away
from my shadow.
Cool of the evening--
dragonfly stops on a leaf
waving in the wind.
Tried to walk it off.
Still depressed when I got there,
despite warming sun.
Too often, Pop Tarts
are my anodyne for,
well, everything.
The smell of coffee
cheers me immensely on this
dreary Spring morning.
Soft white, Nan's fingers
trace Kitty's silent frame
with adoration.
Who is expecting
perfection? Perhaps just me,
but feels like you too.
My hands tent the moth—
soft white wings flutter—
I release it with hope.
Yellow moon, lighting
dark sky. No birdsong until
morning sun appears.
Gray afternoon--
stag lies dead along the road,
cold and alone.
Breezes blow warmly.Through the open window-- thesmell of nectarines.
Small fountain waters,
lone lavender plant in shade--
Summer's breezes blow.
Cement garden strewn
with potted plants and fountains.
Some suburban peace.
Opening windows
to fresh breezes and birdsong,
l listen and breathe.
I hope that possums
and raccoons eat the ripe plums
that fall from your trees.
Rare moment of peace
from waves of doubt. Today's been
a rocky trip.
Summer sun glares down--
a crow hops in the shade
of an old oak tree.
Crapola! Woke up
exhausted. No amount of
coffee can fix it.
