Relay. Poem pic.


We pull back on the strings

of history

for comfort and to create

and re-create a sense of awe.


We praise the past with our lips

and words that search

for melody in the echoes

that souls leave on beaches and in fields.


Old bones fettered by gravity,

the sacraments,

weeping with impatience

muddle in and out of grace.


Until nothing is left

beyond peace and praise.

The memory embellished

and ready to be passed on.

Good Morning

Good Morning

Good Morning



Soft pillows on a breeze

Roll across the blue drape,

curtain of beyond


We are clung hard by gravity

To the still surface of our world

Imagining. Always a little short


The obvious is always staring

Large and blunt

At my inadequacy


Implacable odds

The bookmaker smug in money

And I in self-pity. In fear


For sadness is lost time

I cannot inhabit that

Not all day. Not every day


So I would rather

Blush beneath my host

And live well in the weather.