June 2010 – tinywords

Another weekend over, under a sky of stars I empty the car.

row houses wear tinfoiled windows blind to spring

green tractor plowing drags over black furrows a lace scarf of gulls

riverside wedding — the flower girl picks a dandelion

low tide . . . river mud glistens pink in the setting sun

On a bed of leaves, a deer skeleton picked clean, save one furry hoof.

covered with blossoms a business card floats on the pond

in between the notes heartbeats so loud

snatched by the wind, my check zips past the daffodils — I almost let it go

in an old car an old man and an old dog

remission — in the rear-view the crow settles back on the roadkill

the hem of my dress too wet for the wind

the lie i almost tell bruised ginger

stars clearly aware

The way I rake the desert :: that would be my poverty

Clouds building outside Heralding a thunderstorm My cube grows smaller

the wind howling horizon on a wave

Sunreal

Hidden by the fog, mockingbirds and wrens sing maps outlining the trees.

morning coffee one bare foot under another

empty tree– except one nest

almost there would be a gas station