Contained

because I am contained,

for the moment,

at the intersection

of cinder block walls

and LED lights,

I push my vision

into the middle distance

where lack of focus

allows me to see

puddles and sunshine

competing for dominance

in a November world.

I replace the electric hums

of this inside world

with fooling winds,

which come in slowly

but still sting with cold.

my dry, warm, feet

feel the shifting

layers of sodden leaves

and I slip

and find myself

with pencil in hand,

and coffee that has cooled

and time

has passed.

again.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

waiting on the rain,

dreaming that it shall begin

as a mist

sent to muddy my thoughts

before strengthening slightly

to a drizzle,

just enough to wet my hair

and alter the hue

of my shirt from ocean

to peacock,

cold enough

to have my breath

form

before my eyes

and shiver my bones,

releasing

the aches of years

before I trundle

back to warmth and light,

renewed.

(If you could be any Animal) The First thing I can remember writing was about squirrels

We shared the trees.
Climbing,
always to greater hights,
and I would watch
and wish
I could make those
graceful
(sometimes graceless)
leaps
from tree to tree,
traversing the canopy,
this boundry between
earth and space.
Always a child
with one foot
not firmly
planted.

Gravity

Catching a toe
on uneven pavement,
I stumble.
And this small event
recalibrates my gyroscope,
changing my focus
from what is ahead
to what is up.
So I greet the maple leaves
which rush down to offer
their comfort,
then stand again,
sore but grateful
to be reminded
that gravity
is here for all of us.