Lines Written in a Pandemic a Few Days After the Summer Solstice

from a work in progress: “Process, Not a Journey” (67)

our earth wobbles its way

about the sun like a drunk

unsure of her footing

moves again

toward the bar

*

day by day minute by minute

plods toward darkness

for the next six months

each day grows darker

by one minute

*

not quite disturbing

the dullard doves

who coo complacently

on the fence

cardinals and jays

fussing constantly

slip after each other

between tree branches

I watch and listen

to this dance

for hours

and can do nothing

*

as it was in the beginning

world without end

(June 23, 2020)

belied by circumstance

from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (25)

walking the beach

before dawn

before the gulls

pierce

their pointed cries

through the waves’

unrelenting crush

I drown

in the wash 

of noise

my thoughts beaten

calm and submissive

I have no voice

among these voices

they are still

lashed into silence

by the cold waves

the sun’s first

motifs float

along the edge

of the sea

slight pinks

and greens

define night’s end

alone on the shore

I know who I am

without interpretation’s

variance to distract

(February 7, 2020)