free verse

In here

So many, here, write words of love. Words of yearn, longing and lonely. Are they for one who is here, or has left and cannot come home? For one who wants a conjuring to bring warmth to a sad siren. In dream, I conjure you, the writer, with hands soft, warm, and strong. Alone.



Remember how to sing. If not, to hum, or whistle a waltz. Understand the beast, and restrain it with a stumbling spot dance. Think of your goodness, and not of your sin. Of the young, for they are short of life. Of your faith, or your doubt, and the quality of prayer.


A pause for thought

The slant of the sun. The moss-green mechanic with his fat cigar, chuffing like a chimney. The little kid threesome on the gravel shoulder, fist-pumping the diesel driver. and the undetected grasshopper atop my dusty boot. How slowly I move. I’ve never been here, but I know it.