Unfree Self

The illusion of options and self
Keep my invisible chains
Ever tighter around
My neck

By whose call and hand
I'm led my zig zag paths
I live and let live

Fate has no friends
Faith needs no bounds

Masterful grace of being unfree

Cold Old Winter

Harvest gold, shimmering leaves
Are stubbled over with gray.
Overnight a storm turned
The bosom and bounty of the hills
Into an old man's chin.
Soon the limbs on trees
Will turn brittle and arthritic
And all things flowing will cease.
Bitter wind will bring dry snow where
Only the childlike will play--
Laughing in the lap of cold, old winter.

Didn't Love Him

My rebound guy didn't believe
me when I didn't
love him.

I'd cleaned up nicely after a disaster
called - hit, and the rescue
team was made up of
invisible friends -
time, distance, and legal procedures.

With no mess in sight
My scoured insides shriveled
My life was on mute.

He did turn the volume back on
I got a taste of my feelings.
And tears started flowing.

Still didn't love him.
And our good-bye was healing.
Closure and freeing.

Sketch of This Morning

Silver frost clings to every blade
Then lifts to fog just above the fields
A hazy sun only lit red on hilltops--
With a hot breath, I wait for
A heaving, wheezing bus.

Wounded Eyes

In our many Picasso faces
Our disjointed eyes rove behind
Glasses from childhood
from war zones, windows
Crowded over by weathers of
experiences, blizzards
Shards falling into our flesh
We're all mortally wounded
from the minute we saw each other.