Horses all silent a soft musty mess of fur
waiting
as ice trails trap impatient buds
spring is longing to
wake
and bake the flowers
to bloom
the turtles and ducks and tad poles
weep all night for youths
sole
prize
summer is here and it’s spinning
blue fire
as usual
The last time i saw the mountain
it was 1963 and bowling was
the new
yoga
we knitted ourselves scarves
to stay warm while
we
stretched
our imaginations on plywood
floors
and kept our minds sharp by
throwing balls at wooden
pins
beat poets behind us and
the machine age
ahead
we focused on a new language
and nature
nurtured
the last time i saw a mountain
i laid down to
rest
but when i awoke the
mountain was
gone
In as little as an hour a small tiny flower bloomed today
in a world full of hospitals but very little healing
you may as well paint your ceiling
sky blue and dream
and in a moment when the sky meets the earth and
the moonlight is through
as black turns to blue
i sip my cosmic karma cocktail and remember
the high contrast grey days
as light gives birth to
the new day
