Friday, March 20, 2015

Weekly Worded

        Portrait in Feather

Still standing on dinosaur legs,
    staring across shallow water,
        the crane does not notice

its own reflection wavering
    like an ancient constellation
        transposed on a liquid sky.

Its long neck straightens then
    suddenly crooks, becoming
        the handle of a walking cane.
The bird steps forward, eye bent
    on an approachable shadow
        at the bottom of this murky universe.

Friday, March 13, 2015

Weekly Worded

   (for Terry Pratchett)
              --April 28, 1948-March 12, 2015

As you can see
I am occupied with Death,
so there’s no time left
to answer you with a novel.

When I first arrived
in the world
I thought there would be
more time;

I was mistaken;
so are we all.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Weekly Worded


The eyes are tiny planets
orbiting within a galaxy of bone.
They reflect light like the moon,
sending back what can’t be absorbed.

Or the eyes are aliens
gathering information,
disseminating it to undisclosed locations
where ideas are born.

They see more than we ever say,
two monks in separate caves translating
the ancient language of light
into the book of experience.

When we close our eyes
the world dissolves,
all the raw material of dreams
fabricating an elaborate theology.

Our beliefs slip in through the ears
like a draft under the door,
like a candle flickering in a dark room
while the blizzard outside rages.