i don’t know
he says to himself
about nothing in particular
and then smiles
for he knows
for once he’s right
(February 25, 2026)
Category: pause
-
-
Time slurs and thoughts elide undistracted
from light’s rhythms across the cottonwoods
out back. As if on cue, Death rises unencumbered
with trivial fluff, waves, then vaguely walks away.
I could rage forward slashing through obstacles
like a petulant child scattering piles of dead leaves
without resistance to thought. Or, I could stop,
at least for a moment, and sit on the boulder
that waits where it has sat longer than the road
it sits next to has existed. Instead, I chip away
the crust encasing my skin like a sarcophagus,
pick up a few pebbles, drop them casually
into my pocket, then wander off whistling.
(May 5, 2024)
-
Time Enough
by
(the page of cups, rider-white)
Since I retired, I am asked what it is
I will do, where I will be traveling,
as if I must have an itemized list
which must quickly be dispatched each morning.
This morning after walking with Maisiebefore the heat became unbearable,
I made breakfast for Lisa and myself,
ate, then drank a leisurely second cup—
Time’s no longer a leather whip and chain:the tight drive to work down I-35,
while mapping out the duties for the day,
the constant need for needless minutia.
There is time enough to read, and to write.There is time enough to be happy—
(August 24, 2023)
-
To Then Turn
by
acceptance, agency, aging, borders, change, happiness, hope, meditation, pause, poetry, tarot, time, transition
–seven of pentacles, reversed—rider-waite
The ground you stand upon
shimmers like leaves
at an approaching storm.
In this moment fruit hangs
ripe before you. It took years,
decades, to be happy
at your work; to then turn
away. Did you ever know
where you were going?
Does anyone?
(July 14, 2023)
-
Marking Time
by
the day’s drudgery plods along
disrupted infrequently
by an anti-climactic pause—
the end is no nearer, norfarther away than it was
minutes or years ago
it’s always right hereon the cusp of a wave
crashing toward a distant star
any change that changes changeswithout a melodramatic laugh
in a quickly-twirled mustache
I am here, as you are therebut only until we are not
(April 11, 2023)
-
As if in a Renoir painting,
shadow and light pulse against
each other across the tables.
Beneath the infinite hush
of traffic, people quietly talk.
The worries of the day loosen
and fall away unnoticed.
Waitresses move like dancers
under the oak’s dark branches.
(April 23, 2022)
-
As I cut onions for dinner,
I listen to Lisa complain
about a fellow teacher
who loves drama more
than teaching. I wonder
why we make things
so complicated. I stop
chopping, and listen
to the stereo where
Allison Krause sings
of love and heartbreak.
(April 19, 2022)
subtext 