Row
toward Eden
through
futile winds
across
the seas.
No
compass, no chart,
Polaris
our skin
we
draw to ourselves.
Luxurious
hearts
keen
in the night
moor
in wild ports.
Day 4 - 30 poems in 30 days
When Words Fail
You are the red bandana
tied around my mouth,
so it can’t talk about hands,
yours and mine.
I am a dry fountain pen
thirsty for ink,
for morning and night,
for everywhere between.
We are rocks
tumbling in the riverbed,
smoothing ourselves
to lie in quiet in other laps.
Where will our feet land
after the days of rain,
after our daily bread,
after everyone else is gone?
Day 3 - 30 poems in 30 days
Small Bend In the Road – Unincorporated
Five days a week I drive the same highway
east in morning, west in evening
but today is Friday – I’m working from home
and I miss that speck on the map
named Thursday, West Virginia.
It’s just a building now,
pale green frames around
two windows and the door,
bright green awning across the
porch that spans the front.
A bench still waits
below the right window,
big boards beneath the left,
as if repairs are to be made,
as if this might someday be more.
What’s is like to always live in Thursday,
perpetually stuck in day five?
No Monday, Saturday, no day of rest,
always waiting for what is to come,
knowing only what was, is past.
Is there a lesson here?
Is this the birth of mindfulness,
of being in the present?
Is this where the guru of meditation
waits
for each of us?
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