elf girl is six
obsessed with
dinosaurs loves Weird
Al Yankovich calls his
songs “her music”

she dances like a 
whirligig in
wind…oak leaves in
her hair calls herself
“Leaf Princess”

she whispers
to fireflies
chases them
on fairy feet her
glass jar glowing

singing like a stream
she spellbinds me with
her mandala eyes her
moonbeam smile her

magic…

so many dishes
to be taken care of but
alas, too few spoons

Car is packed ready to go the 618 miles from Kentucky to
our former home in Pennsylvania. It’s my 40th class reunion, and
a Penn State football game in Beaver Stadium with over
100,000 fans, the marching band, the cheerleaders,
twirlers, Lion mascot as the maples turn orange.
homebase is my brother Rick house in Allentown
made famous by Billy Joel’s song.

Jim took the wheel while I dozed in the shotgun.
usually assigned the navigator role
dictating the turns and exits
this time I left it to Siri on the well routed GPS.
waking I asked, have we gone through Maryland yet?

Maryland ? We’re supposed to go through Maryland??
Where are we? 
I don’t know!
Didn’t you listen to Siri? 
she quit talking.
Get off at that rest area.
OMG, We are two hours in the wrong direction !!!

Crystal springs pooling up

From the ground below.

Filling cavernous pits.

How she cries, those tears

Filling holes, chasms herself.

Beautiful and deep are they.

Diving and splashing,

We swim together.

bodies float 
in the pool.  
they hatch,
leave the river,
this time of year
and land 
everywhere–
outdoor walls,
screens, grills
and the swimmming pool
where I exercise.  

repulsed at first,
i decide
to study them:
slight antennae
protrude from a tiny head.
diaphanous wings
on a tiny
tube of a body.
stringy tails,
like threads,
remind me 
of much larger
stingrays whip tails.

I push through
the bodies,
watch them advance
then recede,
float toward
death. 

Make me simple so I take
my mind apart and put it together
in field-strip time so fast it crawls.  

No why, wherefore, nor shoulder strap
of five gold stars commands the seamless
aim, the act of pulling back the bow.           

                #  

All mother wants is a mirror
to see her own beauty  

and another for us
to see her full-length portrait.  

Everything else in the house
is furniture.                           

#  

No gingerbread house forests in
fecund imagination, so
stop looking.

Golf carts carry us to the top of the hill,
the guests radiant in the incandescent sunset.
You embrace friends and family in a fairy dress,
your blissful smile shining above the gossamer gown.
Everyone wants to hold your light closer
and shower you in well-wishes. Passing raindrops
sprinkle the congregation with holy water.
The groom’s father surprises the crowd
with his playful and heartfelt rendition
of your courtship. You turn diaphanous
as clouds go pink and red. Dusk arrives
and the waxing moon draws us
to the bonfire for a final blessing.

Sidewalk shimmering
Two boys playing basketball
Wearing red shorts, no shirts
Cardinal drinking from the dog bowl
By the water fountain
Two women walk slowly
Around the park perimeter
Talking of children and work
And husbands and the state
Of the world
A border collie sniffs the places where
Rabbits stopped to eat clover
Nearby a woman with a leash in hand
Watches, smiling
Overhead a vulture circles, languidly
Catching an updraft, it circles higher
The wind picks up carrying the scent
Of milkweed and creek bottom
A snapping turtle emerges from
Under a rock, resting in the sun  

  I should invite Jessica Lange to lunch,
  for we have things in common.
  Granted, they are ordinary things.
  We are both seventy-somethings.
  We are graduates of the same high school.
  I am acquainted with her brother, George.
  I know about the school play
  that had to be cancelled
  due to tragic circumstances.
  We both find Duluth to be
  the most serene of geographies.  
  We could talk about chances taken,
  share our thoughts about
  aging and agelessness.
  Just because she has done extraordinary things
  doesn’t mean she doesn’t know
  of the ordinary.
  It would be a wonderful lunch, I think.
  I should ask her.

No trees in the backyard
Robins make do
And build a nest under the eaves
On a crook in the downspout.
Not ideal, one would think.
Little shade, no view.

I wonder if they ever wish
For a nicer place.
Do their young complain
That it is too small?
Would they go into debt
For a bigger place
With more room for more stuff
In a nicer neighborhood?

Or is enough enough?
Basic needs met.
Sing your song
Explore your world
Enjoy moments of peace and
Thank God you aren’t a human.