With Wallace, the minutes passed by
like a moving sidewalk at the airport.
Nobody noticed where I was, or wasn’t
which is common as I blend in somehow
despite my loudness and my curiosity.
I learned how another man speaks
to his other woman – concise and clear,
whereas with me, it’s a meandering tangle.
I am wildly uncertain if I will ever be
untangled, or if we will speak to each other
in ways meant to transcend all form.
But for a bit of an afternoon, we fit.
Not impossible
They said the green island turned red
but it was like Mars -which looks more
a rusty brown. Across town, I saw the tunnel
had cracked green tiles and I wondered
if parts of earth have sympathy pains-
like earthquakes in one place
and rains in another- that may be related
beyond air currents and geological shifts.
It’s not impossible. Because my heart
has learned to keep time with a poet
outside my valley and the moon
keeps getting larger in the window.
Love, I want to say, you are my moon,
growing larger in my landscape
but it’s hard to know if he can hear
over the cracking earth and windy nights.
shifts of time, wind, heart
make the barren trees shiver
between hills and skies
Wind like Me
Today’s poem was about wind
and how it shifts,
how it speaks, I think, as
my counterpart in nature,
across skies and along the ground.
I would be content to move like that,
noting the vagaries of weather
and people’s moods
while being a little removed myself
safe and wrapped in the currents.
I have an affinity for wind
that cannot be seen without pulling
dust and debris along for the ride.
Barely tolerable
The fat doves allowed the juncos
a little space on the perch-
plenty of seed for everyone.
It was quiet, the smaller birds
stifling their song
so they’d have a place to rest.
The man watching seemed
to enjoy complaining about
the mess and the noise yet
he kept filling the feeder with seed.
It was an uneasy peace.
The Word Rummager 