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In Mid-December (Poem)
this is the time of dormancy, land fallow the sun likewise
trees skeletal against a washed out sky, leaves abandoned seasonal dreams
the wet cold ground their resting place
corvids the most visible birds, except for the clock of the overhead geese
rain becomes snow becomes rain again, the demarcation of daylight blurs
when the clock reads 10pm, it startles both body and mind
somnolence seeming the natural state
the world hushed and silent as it rests in that brief gap
between inhale and exhale, winter the inspiratory pause
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The Color Of The Sky (Poem)
as a child I asked the wisest person I knew
how do we know the sky is blue
not pink or green or grey or black
because sometimes it is those
is this merely an agreement some group made
amongst themselves and then all followed
why does it have color at all
being a collection of things not a thing itself
the wise man being extremely wise
gave no answers but sat with me
and together we gazed at the changing colors of the sky
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What We Do About Winter (Poem)
why call the cloudless sky and bright sun deceptive
more so than the chilling cold or the bitter wind
winter’s storms have been traveling the mountains
even without these the time to don warmer clothes
build nighttime fires pile blankets on beds has arrived
so look instead at your own mind before casting blame
on weather that happens as weather does
let the judgment rest where it should and ask
which of these lies within my control
then put on a coat next you leave the house
