After

I remember your aftershave wafting after
You left my room
The ambivalence of a cheek flirting with
Its own rough edges
You wrestled a blizzard
— Visibility zero, temperature -40 —
The aftertaste of frozen tears

That afternoon I was the aftermath
Lost in the afterthought of shattered glass

metamorphosis

white deception
covers the ground
Hephaestus’ calling card
who ever thought one degree
could make a difference
between heaven and hell?

Red on white

There’s white on white and black on white
And no relief from it in sight
And black on black and red on white
And feathers floating in the night

And feathers floating in the night
They hover softly in mid-flight
In swirling motion they delight
The air swallowing the light

The air swallowing the light
I wish I may I wish I might
The bloody memory of night
A distant cry of distant fight

A distant cry of distant fight
Why here it is, in red, on white
I see it clearly as I write
This white on white and black on white

Sunset

The sky a kid’s face covered in baby food
Orange streaks ending in root chunks
Opaque memory of the future
Clouds rushing as if late for work
The occasional crow’s swoosh into the distance
Like a paper airplane across my dining room
A gravitational heave arcing up in a paradox
What a clever fox you are waiting
In the clumps of your own strategy
Marooning your desire in feet of delight

Walking

A human walking among
Grass blades and whispers
Where time is not measured
By seconds’ relentless beat or
Google Calendar’s bleating
But by the light’s falling on
Water as it ripples away
By the morning glory’s offering
By the warmth of your skin
On the creases of my hand

Fireflies

In the night of dark skies
Stars scattered across the meadow
In their flickering June ritual
Wood frog woodwinds freezing mid-measure
The conductor stilled by
The trance of the mating lights

Oblivion

I like that Winter is
Having trouble Leaving me
I’ve never known Time
To be sentimental
Yet right Now
Suspended animation is
The only choice
A Reprieve from
Oblivion

What doesn’t exist

Just a few feathers on snow
One tipped with bloody flesh
Crime scene scrubbed clean
A modest deception for
The magnitude of what was

The cells whisper
As they crumble into dirt
Eaten by the gluttonous flow
Of Nature’s own preference
The rustle of hunger to be awake

What is it that doesn’t exist?

Loose

But what breadth here —
Sagging, yielding precision
I am a loose string

A reluctant welcome to spring

Rhythmical dripping
Is driving me crazy
Winter is slipping away
On the horizon
All limping and lazy
Spring coming in from the fray

Snow’s getting muddy
And grey as it’s aging
Into eternity aimed
Sun, now higher
In its perch in the sky,
Is reluctantly getting inflamed

Kicking and screaming
To wake from their dreaming
The bears are slow to rise
Their winter slumber
So sweet and so somber
They don’t rush to chase from their eyes

Something appealing
To stare at the ceiling
Of snow as it piles on my roof
As it slides to the ground
The roof’s native brown
Reminds me of time going “poof”

Not only time’s race
But also the space
Where I am no longer concealed
It will not be long
Till spring comes in strong
And I lose winter’s insular feel

So dance all ye humans
Our race can see humor
That winter is eager to share
And spring to your toes
Since that’s how it goes
The invasion of sun is nigh here