Sunday afternoon

White gloved paw on my knee
body like a chenille throw across my lap
murmur apparent through ribcage and fur
like hummingbird wings against my thigh
watching the raindrops get caught
in the window screens like fish in nets
flashing silver in a sea of green
and always mimicking my mood
he breathes soft as young leaves
shuddering under the weight of small water
his black nose wet as newly turned earth

Migraine

Drawn curtains eclipse the sun
sweet balm of dimness
salve of shadows
diffuse the ticking bomb
with the calm of a cool room
shut out the pain of a perfect day
liquid gold rays heavy as steel
driving railroad spikes into the mind
close the door, douse the lights
lie still as a fallen branch
and wait for the deliverance of darkness

The things that stick

The geometry teacher's fingers

were stained black under the nails

the flesh colored a watery brown

like chaw spit in the dirt

from working his tobacco farm all summer

The first day of class he lifted them up

for all of us cool kids to see

"This is why you don't smoke"

He didn't answer when we pressed

"Then how come you grow it?"

I don't remember his name

don't remember any of the math he taught

(except that beauty has perfect proportions)

but I do recall the buckeyes he handed out

to each of us restless students

after the dramatic show of hands

a token for entrance to an end of year party

held on his farm on the last day of school

I didn't make it, don't know why

And while I have never found the need

for geometry in my life since then

I use my clean lungs every day

and for that I thank him

Wild God

We tame the wild dogs

and shoot the wild deer

we cage the wild lion

for wild things we fear

They make us see the truth

that we are weak and chained

plagued with insecurity

labeled, boxed, and named

We crave control and safety

and so are kept instead of free

that's why we took our wild God

and nailed Him to a tree

Cardinal

Boldness born on a barren branch

red flame in a sepia world

herald of spring enliven the landscape

stoke the coals of nature's imagination

sing the tune of what will be

gone with a rustle of a strong breeze

but your absence does not undo

your presence, you were and are here

your vibrancy a relief to hungry eyes

the world warm beneath your wings

Wind dance

The bare trees bow

to their queen the Wind

unable to resist

when she bids them Dance

arms lifted in exultation

whirling dervishes

whipped into frenzied adulation

of the force which animates them

and gives them Life

Snow fall

An afterthought of flurries

lighten the dusk

just a whisper of winter left

and even though they'll never

amount to anything

still they fall

because that's what snow does

there is no question in nature

of purpose, of meaning

they are one in the same

here they are, there they go

it is a wondrous show