Surd

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One is
A changing value:
A moment in time;
Zero over itself
Or sum of ourselves.
One from everything

Divided by anything, one;
An incomplete quotient
With a remainder of
Consciousness, or
A complete definition
Eternally underway.
I should mention
Angels here, outside
Math, intuitive, discussing
Human rise and fall.
I hear them say,

"They needn't see us,
They needn't see us
At all."

Bee Friend

Much of what is useful
In me is also in a bee,
And more compactly
Contained despite different
Brain dimensions and
Intentions over zinnias.
Still, we garden together
Again, as we always will,
And remain --as we have
From birth, friends on earth.

I Regain Autumn

Sun speaks after the first
Fall rain leaves streaks
Under a dusty tree and
I regain autumn --it
Says this to me.

Silver Clock

I clean a silver clock
Tarnished with worry,
Things to see to, blunders,
Hurried duties, and find
That distinctive, cool
Brightness under,
Reset its hands.
It happens easily,
Usually at three:
One sees silver hair,
Someone seated
A certain way in a
Chair, alert, ready,
Honest, behind a
Silver tea tray and
One falls in love.

Rahima

Unexpected always,
Like wild strawberries
Or lupine in dunes
Appear and hold earth together,
You walk with an open book
Beyond the brim of my hat.
I look.
"It's only a mystery," you say.
Yes, it is certainly that:
You on the path to
Rahima, bright day;
Me, trimming escallonia;
Detectives on separate ways
In an old universe
That still glistens.
You speak.
I listen.
"This, I am more.
Something else that is more."
Hair full of fairylamps,
Downward flutter of fingertips,
A gesture stirring stellar dust,
And I believe you,
I must.

What Bucket List?

Why I am laughing:
My hearing's gone,
My nerves are shot,
My bucket is empty
And I hate these sandals.
There are worse definitions
Of happiness.

Perhaps Because I Have Done This Before

Each moment contains
Some quality of the next
In continuum --in text,
An enjambment, as rain

Stores starlight

In opalescent fog.

Morning, birds
Mutter in hedges,
Silence is
Broken by a barking dog
And this span loses edges
To rising mist.
New worlds are
Made of this: calm uncertainty
That will grow
Wings, feathers, fur;
From this weather
Occur, live, be,
And roam the future
Of memory.