Dew

A dewdrop clear as air,
a convex mirror for the sun,
rests light
on the tip of my finger.
Weightless,
flawless in design,
the cool bead of first light
draws up
the heat of my blood.

I hear its brethren tap
a rhythm soft upon the forest floor –
tic tic,
its summer drumming.
Old growth is moistened,
musk is set aloft
to fill my lungs
with the rich scent of decay.

A priceless tear
of early summer morning,
the dewdrop falls
onto my tongue
and I am blessed
to taste the wealth of ages.

March: 2007

Disconnect

Moon beams
crawl across the floor
on the foot of a snail.
Gray walls
consume the rosy hues
as night
performs its treachery
against my contentment.
A river of pale sheets
ripple and connect us in chaos
but only then,
in a moment of regret.

I will not reach for you
turned away from the window,
shut eyes facing the wall.
I will not search for you
in this lover’s moon.
I will hold my breath
and wait a thousand years
for you to smile,
and wait a thousand more.

September: 2006

Picasso’s Children

Collect the pieces
and smile them into place again.
Pretend.
We learn this young
from the biting tongues
of mothers
whose bitterness cannot be laid
at the feet
of providing husbands;
and so we inherit it,
secondhand targets that we are.
Their plastic grins
glue back the shards
repeatedly
into misshapen replicas
with eyes and ears misplaced
and left jagged
from their undeclared regret.
They pat us on the head
and never look to see
if we are truly injured.

September: 2006