Janus Before Seven

{back yard, 11-28-14}

Time to sit on a log
And be spellbound
In pearl early light
Turning in low fog.
White tendrils curl
Up from earth,
Ghosts churning
White over winter
Fields.
Not a sound.
How to consume
This crop, this yield?
Sit on a log, be
Spellbound.

Form Fills

Form fills a
Pull of potential
And rain falls.
Rain falls on what
Will be because
Rain fell.

Opera Logic

In opera, wars end
In strolls among flowers,
Coruscating country folk--
Strife flees a jolly
Polka, jokes upon passion, power.
In opera, wars end; hagiarchy
Bends to lovers'
Tears, children praying.
In opera-- fears, betrayal,
Insurrection-- whispers
Snag upon gardens
Over reunion, pardon.
Voices blend --in opera
Wars end.

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.