Not Saving Daylight

pine needles

Now, it is dark when I wake.

Morning walks seem quieter. Squirrels more casual.

Sunrise twice – over mountain, then over rooftops.

Pine needles perfectly arranged to look random.

I am walking east of my anger.

Sleepless and alone, staring at the Moon

I play Satie softly not to awaken
her upstairs. I’m not much of a
musician, more a phonometrician, measuring and writing
down sounds as the Moon approaches fullness,
far from Paris, breathing in 3/4 time.


A Day at the River

“You aren’t just the age you are, you are all the ages you have ever been.” ~ Kenneth Koch


morning, pebbles making small ripples like fish

in afternoon sun, this was my beach

now empty but for summer moon and me

two silver waning slivers silent as water

a bridge that no one is crossing


Morning Glories

Sunlight crisp through bare almost-spring trees and

the air still March cool except here,

this circle around us, hot coffee and

eggs and toast, birds breakfasting on seeds,

last summer’s flowers watching us with interest.


Inspired by such a morning and Basho’s haiku:

I am one

who spends his breakfast

gazing at morning glories