He fingers the sunburn blisters
on the ridge of his balding scalp.
Looses another button on his shirt
so the absent wind can waft his chest.

Nibbles at the salty jerky and flips
around the freezer bag with bottled water,
a granola bar, some tube of fruity gel.

Melting into the bench in front
of the church that gave him the sack,
he watches the sun rise like an angry god.

the rolling showed devotion-
                     cries of delirious
                                           fury
                     fell into ‘the faith’

                 his theory of taking
                       two and two
                     
                    a line of blue silk-
                 less than those who
                        lived

the sound which darkness
                       passes into-
                       pushing north

              many had-
                          and had
              still in detailed time

           but he finds their heart
                       in cages

My squirrels gifted
me surprise sunflowers,
stalks asserting themselves
amongst the hosta & lavender,
gutters and gourds.  

I call them tree rats,
but they are generous in their struggle.
Little limbs stretch to reach heights,
chittering heads on a swivel for the local hawks.  

The avians only take.
Blueberries, blackberries,
anything the screeching elitest
monsters can get their hands on. 
They soar easily, stealing treasures.

wet courtyard in rome
photographer composes
a ripe orange drops

The ocean rolls her lull, gives us a free get outta jail card,
Who wants to ‘skin a knee’ tryin’ to stay in the race pace?
The birds sail in the sky no noisy cacophony of competitive banter,
Sky free, winging it as one V-formation, taking turns at steering the hard,
Sometimes a play on waves, laughing as wings touch foam,
It’s calm and safe dancing with Mother Nature,
Like walking into a still cathedral as prayers hang in the air embracing the sacred space,
Babies remind us to go soft, to modulate as we watch in wonder as nature screams when she has to,
Wonder, where to be found in the chase, the whirr, the whizz?
The ocean waves rhythmically roll as nature’s maestro wand directs the healing symphony.

our river city swells and swelters under summer’s strong hand
incessant as a droning interstate hive
humming specks of light travel,
weaving i75 constellations for our viewing pleasure

how many landscapes can you see, he asks,
before they blur together?
how many faces before they appear a monolith,
names before they sound the same?

i instead watch miniature cars buzz in the distance,
decide to decipher their morse code

mostly he talks of big things, of the universe,
of vacuums and time continuum
how it’ll all swallow itself whole
like an ignorant snake eating its own tail

how does one go back to real life after divulging that?
how am i supposed to sip my cocktail?

She paints anime characters.
She learns Japanese to name them.
She knows naming is the first human occupation.
She could speak volumes before she acquired words.

Outside, cradled between the elms, Jupiter rose 
above the horizon, and I called my daughter to see 
if she could see his tiger orange stripes 
and shining moons. 

Only two, she tip-toed to the telescope stalking 
with expectant pursed lips—and stretching up

couldn’t spy in the eyepiece.

Lifting up on a stool, she declared 
she had it, knew

just what to do,
the frosted green grass hugging her shoes,

and entered the house
to make up the planet that night

using two pieces of construction paper
and scissors.

Wide eyed children with
pastel painted ceramics 
create special bond
between mom and me stored in
curio lined with lovely legacies.