Directions to Where We Live : Momentary Images Framed

Stars

We hang

Suspended in the void.

Unable to reach across

the light years that separate us.

Oh, how lonely we shine,

Stretching out bright fingers

in the dark.

Accidental Awareness

Tiny little wine glass

Shattered by a heavy bowl

Spark, sliver, silver

spread over the gleam of linoleum counter

next to the dish drainer.

picking up the offending innocent bowl,

a shadow lingers,

resting dark against the hard glitter of icy dust.

Midwinter

A fine, white dust of snow

Scattered on the glass table

outside the kitchen window

Winter’s presence fading

buds begin to show on the early trees

Spring more than a month away

struggles for a foothold

on Winter’s slippery perch

My dreams are all black and white in this cold

Season’s fade and creep

in slight movements of gray

and angles of shadow

slowly shrinking with the snow

One Good Simple Thing

There are things in life.

Simple, easy things that take the hardness out of world for a moment.

Ghostly music seeping in from another room makes me stop.

She is singing again, and I cannot move,

I must stand and cup my mind around this whispering flame.

The slightest puff of air will chase it into the night

and leave the world colder for its loss.

How to Be a Fool

Most likely you are standing or moving

on a well beaten path.

right now you look down and see thousands of footprints

in the mud and dust,

but look up at the sky and the trees overhead

with wide grinning eyes

and see a moment without time

that only you know

and only you can tell.

Walk on a Winter Night

I walk back from the corner store,

my foggy breaths lead me up the hill.

Orion in the southern sky, so clear,

the crescent silver just over his outstretched arm.

all against the indigo sky dome.

My face, upturned, stinging, shining moonlight back up.

streams of water on the driveway

frozen into low slick speed bumps,

shattering the moonlight on glass curved surfaces.

I place one foot on an ice stream,

feel it start to slide so easily, no friction.

I stand just a little longer, face growing numb,

warily placing feet down the driveway,

careful, watch for ice glimmers

up the steps. open the door.

the warm inside leaps out, pulls me in

pats me on the back with a jolly, “Here you are again!”

I am surrounded in a warm island

afloat on a tranquil sea of a winter’s night.

Summer Storm Day

All night the storm grumbled around
Lightning flickered through my eyelids
With one tremendous crack-rumble ripping me out of loose sleep
into the misty dripping dark

in the morning my basement office cool
gray light filtered through
bright stalks of grass growing
against the little pains.

The day couldn’t make up its mind
It would grumble and storm a little
And then clouds stretched almost blue
For a few straining minutes.

Evening all green and rabbits on the lawn nibbling
With clouds breaking into pools of pale sky
The meadow is silently moving in furtive breezes
Or some stealthy predator circling.

Peace is a Place

Watch as you step
there will be a place
to put your feet

Somewhere between
the sun and moon
a star will shine

Mount your horse of water
raise your cup into the circle sky
the path will be clear before you

A sword gleeming
in the distant dark
will lead you home

Moments in a Long August Day

I

I stand in the office.

sunlight comes in through two windows

one behind me and one to my right.

My hand is moving away from the book I just put down.

A woman talks fast and loud.

She swivels around in her large office chair to face me.

I see the slight curved wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

The hum of computers is there underneath her voice.

The words come fast, so fast they can’t mean anything.

One metal prong, curved as it comes up from the file,

reflects itself in the straight tilted end.

My finger and thumb closed together nearby.

II

I sit tilted forward, leaning over a yellow file folder,

black lines hard on the yellow.

Someone talks behind me in loud, dry, tones

rough rocks moving together.

The whispery hum of computers still underneath it all.

III

Both of my hands lightly grip the black steering wheel.

Through the windshield I see a narrow two lane road rising in front. Trees form a solid wall of shifting green in many shades, leaves glittering as the breeze moves them.

Dark green leaves against the bright yellow of a house.

In the distance a hillside,

a patchwork forest against the cloud washed sky.

IV

I am counting pieces of plum colored printer paper.

The sound of a drill comes from under my desk.

A man is on his back head and shoulders hidden by the desk.

legs lay apart flat on the floor.

Someone reads an Email about impending change.

V

I sit on a couch

paperwork on a coffee table.

A man looks from me over to his 3 year old son.

He says something in Punjabi.

The boy nods his head and replies in clear singing tones,

also in Punjabi.

“He says that he wants to go to school now,”

the man says.

“He is ready.”

The boy smiles at me.

I smile back.

VI

The light is green.

I steer the car through the intersection

up the hill.

“What was that beep?” asks my son.

“It was just my watch.”

VII

I am walking toward a parking lot with only a few cars here and there. My wife, who walks next to me, tells me some ideas she has about college and her career.

Across the parking lot

enormous trees,

spreading, chaotic oak, symmetrical pines, narrow cottonwoods are scattered about an undulating field of short cut brown tinged grass.

VIII

I sit at a glass table on a second story deck in the cool stretched shadows of an ancient furrow barked hemlock.

A bowl of minestrone steams

It is too hot to eat.

I take a bite of jicama, sweet, crisp, and wet.

My wife talks about her work and change.

IX

The headlights shine on the bushes and telephone pole as I steer the car around the corner

Up the street and down into the driveway.

My daughter sings with the radio.

I turn off the car.

X

All is still.

Sunday Walk with the Dog

We reach the top of the little hill

through the muddy forest

suddenly noticing the heron

still, silhouetted

by the green-brown pool reflecting the sun

the “croaaak” of a frog echoes.

At my intake of breath

shadow wings spread pushing up

out onto the sky and stroking away

receding to the horizon.

On the way back down

We pass a pile of rocks gleaming in the afternoon sun

As we continue past, my mind is on

happy beaches of polished and dull stones

piling, sorting

hours just scooping wet holes

down through the layers

of finer pebbles just big enough

to see a bit of color

thinking maybe I could dig

down to the place where the rock

cradles the beach to the ocean’s breast

that pure touch of water

that grinds the mountains into sand.

The dog did not say much only walked and peed

happy to have walked and come home.

When I am on the beach

will I think of the heron?

or the pile of rocks by the road to my house?

or ocean?

or tiny pieces of mountains?

Departure

A dark cloud of pain,

she sweeps in

disturbing the rhythm of the current

leaving eddies

swirling ghosts with open mouths yawning

Her body shrinking

in knots of fury

The child, I release into that storm

is immediately lost in the tide.

she follows, carelessly

“It is the only life I know how to live,”

she shrugs with her last look back.

I sit alone

swallowed by a trailing ghost.

I Will Sing You A Silent Song

Where is my joy?

In the quiet songs

deep in the pattern of wood grain.

Talk is my fear.

Words are ripped from my thoughts

by idiot devils

shredding of bits with their jabbering claws.

When I talk,

The music is no longer

in a night full of cricket buzz,

Fire crackle,

your hand just touching the back of my neck.