Tired
dressed in homespun
with an old straw broom, barefoot
sweeping the dirt floor
–
breaking sun
moist soil on
the coffin’s lid
dressed in homespun
with an old straw broom, barefoot
sweeping the dirt floor
–
breaking sun
moist soil on
the coffin’s lid
steering through the shoals
drawn in by the siren’s song
of my flannel sheets
–
coveting
the cool side
of her pillow
windows thrown open
sheer curtains gently wafting
in the evening breeze
–
becoming Icarus
flying westward
chasing the sun
sleep so elusive
reliving memories in
my childhood bedroom
–
oppressive heat
clock watching
until sunrise
gathering sunlight
wakes the tangled vines of shy
morning glory blooms
–
rustling leaves
a shaft of light
warming my cat
stilling the waters
the taste of salt on my lips
from kissing your tears
–
the loon’s cry
rising sun over
a winter lake
relaxing at last
working out in the garden
under the moonlight
–
high silver clouds
a beaver breaks
the water’s surface
the round amber moon
slides behind a silver veil
woven in the sky
–
heat lightning
revealing clouds
from within
my wet business shirt
translucent where it clings to
the swell of your hips
–
cloudburst
unexpectedly
caught outside
in the pre dawn hours
the sounds of distant thunder
lull me back to sleep
–
a hard rain
drumming on
rhododendrons