Moon Pond

This sky, a moon pond.

Nothing there to anchor on

 

except gravity. We

sail around each other…

 

The sea, full of entropy,

is drowning its cargo

 

in deep whorls

of uncertainty and fear.

 

How did this happen

again

 

that people

toss in nightmare

 

hulls on a freedom

ride to somewhere

 

else?

Gliding moon

 

silent lily of night

light the clouds

 

of the fleeing

and still the seas

 

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The first bird

Some stirring called the bird,

a rustling of pollution, steady

nighttime harbinger of a rising

breeze I do not hear.

 

Below were inland

rivers of waste dripping

underfoot, charred slender

sticks walking through

the dark

 

that shook the bird

to shudder

 

This first sound of morning

 

 

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Waiting Springs

Although magnolias crescendo into space

from bareness,  budded flowerings of magenta

and whiteness like a bridal flurry down the street

 

and prunus send confetti blossoms

to manicure the edge of winter’s nippy

tail blowing determinedly from the south,

 

there is curiosity in the aisles, hesitant

anticipation, plane trees, tallow, jasmine,

roses, all quiet, as waiting springs

 

an overture

 

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