Pale Wind 

Once, the fish swam in the night sky –
a galaxy inside her belly.

She bore stars and pushed out tears, recalling

The angry cycle of mourning the living.

I had the chance to talk with her,

a chance to travel around her galaxy.

I saw the cycle churning,

filling and unfilling her fists,

palms milk white.

I felt the pain safely escape away

from her memory, from the dark house.

Although she lost the tears,

the memory of it twinkles.

Dead and alive in her sky.

Astronomers attach no name to that time,

That spiral pattern.

That place ejected from her insides.

I looked at the fish finding his way in the night.

He broke out and fell

into a motion you’ll remember as no accident.

You felt it coming. The pale wind

reaching for him.

 
 

Tranquil Champlain

A boat swings like a weather vane

on the flat blue glass. It turns

like a ballerina

dressed in white canvas and

wooden soled shoes.

She tip-toes and etches hull lines

in the glass like smoke

in her wake.

A man sits on an August heated dock,

watches the lake expand from dark blue to white,

from summer to winter

from East to West.

That boat swings like a needle,

’round the compass of his green-gray eyes.

 

End of Day

Your feet are tired, rough and bruised at the stern

Blue nail polish flakes into the bow of your socks,

you are like a snake shedding skin so you can heal.

Your shoulders ache, pinch at your neck

and squeeze your tendons

like jellyfish tentacles injecting poison.

All this time, the day moves

forward                   forward

swings back

like a pendulum.

I thought you wanted to start new.

Hop off here, pull that pendulum

forward,

feel no reverb.

After all this time, the day stains yellow.

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Towers

A dark stream spills snake-wise over the streets’ hissing hot

pavement.

The noon light reflects optical illusions,

like piano key towers,

ivory skyscrapers

and tall men with powers.

Most of the smokestacks

protrude from their and the city’s mouth

streaming with a harmony

hollowed of energy.

That dark stream sweeps the feet clean

and the men run faster

staring down at the hissing pavement

looking up at the black and white glass.

The noon light transfigures their image;

city and men.

They are shorter by dusk

and gone in the dark stream of night.

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Awning

She still carries the old awning from territory to new territory.

Originally, the salt-sprinkled awning

brightened her face

when the sea sun glowed orange and splashed the canvas.

Now, the soot-covered awning

dims her olive skin, casts shadows

during the day.

At first sight, you would fold away

abashed

by her striking

candles

under a flammable movable roof.

Second glances prevail and

reveal surprised, flared smiles.

The blackened awning drifts

with homemade electricity

sideways over her tarry hair

lingers for a while, as if delivering rain

like a cloud-

then, it stretches wide and blossoms

toward the sky to be refilled.

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Houses on Stilts

You are an EyeLand Catch like your neighbor’s great-aunt,

Nellie-Ann.

After the oily waves took bites out of your land,

your home deserves a Time-Out.

Be Proud Mary.

Keep on Pipe Dreamin and enjoy backyard barbecues

on the Fourth of July

even as the June Bug bites alligator skin before mother nature gears up her ammunition.

Mama and Papa’s Dreamers swing on the concrete porch

watching the Grey Mist below My Blue Heaven on this Grand Lyle isle.

You will find paradise in these Weathering Heights, just

Sip n Sea.

 

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