Crow takes a turn

curbside crow
lying like 
dark gloves.
white  
market body bag.
trash can.
night clan dream.
exhumed.
buried among
lilies.
overhead-
they count.

Trance/Atlantic

Take it from me  now.

You are standing.
Facing sea.
When you speak
your voice draws a ray.
You call it shoreline.
The moment you demarcate it,
it is yours, not to be shared.
But then the moon and the
pulling, bruised night
take back this possessive.
You look down.
Your blue feet are an inscription.
Under the hood of cloud cover
you ask for more light.
You need more light.
The shine rolls away, leaving
this opaque gender,  loss.
You want to ignore these shapes.
Feet are so familiar, too final.
After endless illuminations
they settle under a shore that sparkles.
Beneath the next moon you
try to explain with gestures,
hands that sign deja vu,
that hold nothing
and release everything.

Google This

All along the mnemonic path
I had left little devices to
Catch those yesterdays'
New things of old.
Snares of a sort, a pinwheel
Or two. Were they spinning
Clockwise or counter?
A cleanly seen associate.
What does that feeling of
Approximation feel like?
The person, the word,
The time of that year?
What I am tempted to do
I fear will destroy that impulse
To natively remember from
Within my own mind.
Once a memory, now,
Just information retrieved.
Much of what is easy is,
Like absorbent cotton, mopping
Up for me. A dumb provider.
Sit down false necessity.
Let me do this myself.
Give me a little time,
Just a little time.

An Appreciation of the Sun

The sun looks for me.

It is undaunted in the

Way it searches. 

Not the naked dirty elm

Nor the highest floor

Will stand in it's way.

It sketches the winter lilac

On the house. 

The dog's doppelgänger 

runs across the wall

Like vanishing Charcoal. 

Inexpensive zircon

sparkles in the snow. 

Glint of tiny prisms. 

Holograms. 

The word welcome

Comes to mind. 

It floats from my mouth. 

A small enough cloud. 

The sun climbs on me

Looking into my eyes. 

dressing me in 

Whatever's available.

Out of the blue,

The mysterious blue,

It buttons each button. 

I celebrate mid-morning. 

Such a wardrobe. 

Such an ever-light necessity.