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The Moment Before Tea (Poem)
some afternoons hover on the edge
a rough pottery cup falls from my hand
spilling dreams across the kitchen table
their brilliance saturates the wooden surface
as it turns live with colors previously unknown
rain drops transform into birds with glassine feathers
that fly through the smazy windows
in a dazzling glitter of reflected phantasmical hue
all vanishes as I retrieve the cup
tea is ready
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Was It Rain Or Tears? (Poem)
after weeks of punishing heat
we walk out in early hours to sky misted with clouds
and raise our faces wet with what could be tears
but is rain so tentative we almost fear to breathe
we stand in mute petition to beg the sun to hide
please give this day over to other weather
let us hope that what comes is kind
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Sound of A Scorched Month (Poem)
in this here at this now so much noise
air itself vibrates and hums
counterpoint to the rising drone of heat
the occasional wind a parched threnody
in chorus with barren hillsides
trail once buttressed with foliaged arches
no longer a quiet refuge
brittle leaves in the coal dust underfoot
each step rustles these premature bones
a creek a well a desperate hope for rain
the distant memory of silence
