Flat-Lined

It is all an energy thing,

As I am wont to say,

And when the bucket

Goes to the well,

And comes up with mud

What does that mean?

You pull out what you put in.

If you offer hmmm and zzzzz,
That is what you get.

Houses We Once Knew

"The houses are all gone under the sea." — T.S. Eliot

We moved through those rooms,
Leaving our fingerprints on the air,
Exhaling our hopeful spirits into those walls,
Eagerly absorbed,
Just passing through,
Though they remain.
Memory offers a window
With a finer view,
From a room in need
Of no renovation,
Where laughter and delight commingle
With tears and disappointments.
Sweetly, though,
We never left that
Bright afternoon,
Brimming with hope,
As we backed
Out of the drive
For the last time.

Spring Evening Song

Soft might capture it
though nothing
can articulate
where silk air
intersects with
kaleidoscopic light
atomized in mist
nature healing swirling
trying its best
daffodils trees shrubs
birds squirrels
rising up or scattering
or perhaps celebrating
some sacred pact
delivering on a promise
of earth and sky
returning from
a walk to the sea
with the day's final rays
and waves behind
clawing the coast
catching again
the peeper chorus'
short-lived ancient
song of praise