Where sea grounds bow skyward,
waters boil. Dome of heat and stretch,
as rifts and junctions
budge the wombly crust
like wrinkles in turtle’s neck.

Sky eddies swirl like the spinning dolphin
mad for his lover who watches in awe.
The tempest froths my surface skins,
and sprays torrents for Wind to scatter
into the puckered day.

Last night the moon
Seemed awkward
In a semi-summer sky,
Yet bright still, like
A remarkable thought.

The decision seemed that much bolder
for the well of silence it sprang from
that late winter day, as I stood at the sink
and stared across the driveway,
the furnace having just shut off,

Morning
water color
mist muddled pond
whip-grasses
dark as pounded

All-knowing certainty in any realm
Bellyaching and its namby-pamby rationale
Commentaries on creativity when bodies are being pulled from rubble
Deep despair any time especially now
Electricity or the expectancy of electricity when you clap your hands

Because I am here
it is often said that I cannot be
somewhere else.
And yet, in the heart of today’s city
I have walked through younger woods –

I claim I’ll go
full of curiosity.
But darling we both know
I always want one more
kiss, another drag

How many summer afternoons found us
at this lakeshore, unable to account

for our fate? Dear whirligig,
you want what is only possible

with stillness. We have yet to learn the names