Passive ArchitectMy day wakes early
near the sound of birds
and the yawns of babies
a walk near the ocean
met with swimming in a lake
we live like Romans do
in the height of suburbia
sleep between crashing oceans
the silence of a loved accomplice
critters in a full lit night
where we may own the stars
small work
getting ready in the evenings
owning up to books
our surroundings of
interpreted happiness
Houses
or things in the afternoon
stepping out from the world
a girl in a new language
lacy photographs
pages on fire
foggy mornings
I’ve missed you in
Two lost Lovers
It is my secret
to fly over many oceans
if we have the same taste
our mothers express
it in all our secrets
the night to wonder
nothing to be shamed
.
We’ll all go home to bed ourselves
beside cups of
coffee and books of rain
up the coast from weather
between the beaconing sounds
of two lost lovers.
The tall streets of Venice
How I loved to walk around in the night
a group of college kids on break all fall
.
I purposefully was lost
in the tall streets of Venice
the thick waters
and glowing light
.
Fashion shows by night
glowing stores in glassed out frames
arched way entrances
windows looked upon the parade
happy ten-year-olds realizing age
for the first time
adulthood meant this freedom
Silver Fox Pottery opens the kiln to find these treasures below!
Photo below by SFP.
~
60 Hour Fire
They are slowly burning the house
small kindling held, considered
then thrown into the throat of the fire
cords of wood, floor to ceiling in the living room
the linoleum of the kitchen pulling up
from the misstepped foot
cords in the kitchen, cords holding
up the unsturdy second floor.
~
Cords of wood in an old house
No, they really aren’t burning the house down. 🙂
Images by locavore.ca & Visual Photos & Surface and SurfacePhotography Gallery & Mark Fuchs below, whose image is of another beautiful home nearby falling apart.
Drumming Beat of the Third Line
The drumming beat of the third line
stubbed out
what the silence must mean
if hours before I was to blame.
.
Did you remember to make the appointment for the cat?
No, more silence.
.
Silence that slumbers into deep pillows
drowning out the day
the inconsistent ticking
the kitchen clock
what silence must mean to a person
with closed eyelids
who does not sleep.
The Person in the Mirror
Nervousness stands
a mirror image
finding across the eyes
in the throat
words that wanted out.
The Horizon is on Fire
The horizon is on fire
the ashes splayed across the sky
smeared red and blurred
into dusty creams, crimson and blonde.
In the low winter sun
the images of our surroundings are
so crisp.
The Horizon
The Horizon is being dug away
only to show more sky
caught in our throats by the wind
making us cough.
Please, not the Fort Henry Club
Empty houses
entire neighborhoods
bought up by a city
to tear down treasures
of well-worn steps
smooth wood curved rails
that swim
from the bottom floor to the top of the third story.
