from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Without god to save us,
a breeze slips through
the sycamore’s leaves
slightly sifting the heat away
from the shade beneath.
We must find ourselves
within ourselves, or perish.
Light dapples the grass between us
like butterflies over flowers.
(June 7, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
In various taverns
around town,
we have spoken tegether
for years, gathering strength
from our gentle laughter
over beer, books, and beatitudes.
Each of us offers what we can,
then part renewed.
(June 6, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
To be there. To bear witness:
one tells one’s story— That’s all!
That is how evil falls— Again
and again— tell one’s story.
(June 5, 2019)
by
He wanders
from wall to wall,
turning tightly
at all the corners.
There are no doors,
nor windows,
only walls;
no light
outside his dark.
(June 4, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
At home, I cannot move on.
I have few friends here,
but I am content:
I am myself with myself.
Each day, I wander alone
through a foreign land,
where I have no tongue:
no tumblers click
within their conversations,
no prison bolts drop
within their conventions.
(May 31, 2019)
by
Go down the occasions:
the tally marks of days,
weeks, months, years
ago when something
was said, or not
said, or done, or
not done– enough!
What happens when one
no longer has anything
to say; when language
has outstripped
one’s desire to speak?
I’m at an impasse
and fear my words.
(May 31, 2019)
each day I revise
and renew the dream
if not into now then
some other when
where I want to be
becomes possible
for the moment
in which I’m in
dream dreams
dreams too until
all the seams
between seem as
if some other were
only what is here
(May 30, 2019)
He spits bits
of fat and flesh
into the fire–
to conspire,
with a smile,
something for you,
something askew:
a new line,
a new charm,
or warning hiss;
some new distress,
some fatal harm,
like twined snakes
upon a cross.
(May 27, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
The moon wanes,
as he begins
to speak:
so many words
go unspoken.
He chokes on air.
(May 25, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
not drowning, nor waving
but to enter a room
and not be the room
nor resist the room
each wave is a wave
distinct until the shore
my voice is strangled
before it can be heard
(May 25, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
I’m here where I belong,
sitting beneath this tree
I planted long ago.
(May 24, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Before he moves,
he waits on time,
listening for a breath.
He moves still
without motion;
his mind wanders
across the valley
to the next mountain.
Discontent breeds desire.
He sits stiffly
somewhere between
here and there:
no end,
no beginning.
(May 20, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
A door blows open;
I wake to a storm.
A familiar room whirls
in disarray. Fear dares
for someone to speak.
(May 17, 2019)
1.
I cannot hear America
singing– the sun
descends, and the moon
is dark. Hell’s gate
swings wide. I fear
I am lost.
2.
I worry the world,
and am wrong
about so much;
yet, the sun still rises
each morning,
despite all of us.
(May 15, 2019)
by
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
No flames engulf–
I burn in slow embers
which pulse like blood;
if god exists, he’s here
now between these words
I live within.
(May 15, 2019)
