Long Ago…

Ages ago, long on
Green grasses and hot
Sparkling waters were
The losses and gains of

Whispers and looks in
The dank dead of night. All
Asleep and aware of
Fragility. Chipped vases

Just hanging on to
The sides of cold
Counter-tops. Ready,
Almost, to fall to…

A song sung in an under-
Ground place. The visions of
Heat and mountains still left to
Climb. All… all is gone

Somehow, like bushes pulled
Out and tossed to grow in
Slowly moldering woods. The
Groans and wastes. The pleasant,

Sad knowledge of the shattered time
Piece. The bolts scattered across
Barren floors. The…

Tap of an unknown foot
In a room we just
Can’t find.

An Ode for Lost Things

Songs like winds that blow
Down from things lost below
Stairs… sifting and sifting. It

Is never enough. The doors

That slam shut on floors we
Once walked down. The whispers
Behind walls. The tap tap
Of quiet rain on misty window
Panes. I cannot think of these things

Without thoughts of drives along
Wet roads. The broken stair with
The one creaking board. That

Coin I dropped but cannot
Find. Pulling away dusty
Cupboards in pursuit.

Photos I never took. Marbles
That roll along cold floors. These

Like songs on distant hill-sides on
Windy, way-laid days.

Snaps in barren woods.
The creak of hinges beside
Cool mountain streams. These

Like a song, lost,
Somewhere in
The distance.

Brief Thoughts on Summer Days

Quiet canyons and the call of
High, black birds seem to rest
On the backs of cool, silent

That I see flowing off in
Dreams and smells of fresh
Lilacs that bloom by

Running down the red rock
Walls. These the places and
Scenes of a summer time by

That call us to come
To paintings found in corners
Of caves. The new flowers we
Cannot, quite, find.

Quiet Streams that Whisper, Once

I wish I could tell you
About the wild beauty of
Distant slopes seen
Through the thick haze of
Squalid towns. The

Crunch of broken rocks. The
Silent hawks caught in a
Warm, wild breeze that blows
In before a storm with clouds that
Were coughed up from a desert
Lake near waterfalls that twist through
Steep, rugged and red
Canyon walls. All of

This… all is lost
Somehow to wild men in
Bushes who scrounge for coins and
Cotton that brakes off from stems
Shattered by the horses I can still
Just hear passing beyond the barren
Mountain gulches. I wish…

The carts go up the canyon and come
Down again. They move on
And off, while I
Am left sitting here smelling
Sweet lawn water sprinkling up
Across green locks and hear
The clouds break off and cool into
Colors of red and pink and, somewhere
In the distance: the purple that breaks
Into a house no one
Can find.