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Weeks Before Winter Solstice

W

                                      “and I am

out with hanterns, looking for myself”

                        –Emily Dickinson

Despite the lights in the house,

The darkness penetrates.

It assumes positions in corners,

Presumptuous in its domain.

Like lions pace a cage’s confines,

I am lost in loops of thought

Looking for a set of keys

Which will let me inside.

Yet, there is no rest within

Nor without which can comfort

Enough to bring a closure;

Locked in my obsessions,

I worry each item in turn,

Tangled like tumblers at a fair.

(November 26, 2018)

Improvisation

wile-e-coyote

 

 

at best—

a bird flits

across the yard

with a divine grace

from bush to tree top

as if each wing-beat,

dip, and glide

were planned

 

more likely— I wing

each moment; in chaos

I flail, arms akimbo—

a cartoon character

only cognizant as I fall

slowly through clouds

into a soft puff of dust

that pocks the ground

 

(October 4,2018)

the constant

SAINTS SERGIUS AND BACCHUS. Byzantine icon of Saint Sergius and Saint Bacchus

as if an aura buzzed

a neon glow along an edge

of a byzantine saint

a low level dread burns

on the periphery of his days

like a star verging on collapse

everything everywhere constantly

distracts toward simple

chaos toward tangents

askew to well ordered

paths desired in his constant

scrabble for affirmation

instead of beatific joy

in the exploding universe

Misaligned

ridleys_tumbling_blocks_closeup_1024x1024

 

She moves the block to the right

slightly, turning its axis

parallel to the table’s edge.

It is now as she imagined,

arranged in her mind’s symmetry,

aligned with the larger world.

Life would be easier if only

every one would take care

of everything instead of her.

But they don’t. So she does

what she can to help

put things in their places.

Yet the world she desires

rarely mimics the world

she lives within,

and the difference grows

as roots in a forest

askew to any explanation.

 

(September 7, 2018)

Quiet Desperation

Katmai-National-Park__508x400

 

I’ve never been free:

approbation and fear

a constant tap-tap

at my shoulder,

as a reminder— “No,

do not go there.

Stay inside this truth.

It’s comfortable here.”

 

Justly, it is never

too warm to sweat,

nor cold enough to shiver.

There are no bears here,

lost in their quandaries

as to my medial decisions.

 

(September 3, 2018)