of the great expanse
of the Fitness Center parking lot,
one tree surrounded
by an island of grass
stands alone in a sea of vehicles.

As I emerge 
from my car I spot
a peculiar and unlikely sight.
I keep inching closer to be sure.
And yes it’s true.

A baby bunny
chasing three crows around
the only tree in the parking lot.
The rabbit charges and the crow
flaps away.  And then again
with the next crow.  And then again.

At first
I thought the hare was aggressive
in its attack,  though the crows
didn’t seem threatened, just
moving out of the way, as you
would brush aside an insect.

Who would believe this?
Seeking confirmation,
I point out this bizarre sight
to another woman getting out
of her convertible.  They’re playing,
she said.  And of course they are.

Our news channels so choked
with conflict, it slipped my mind
play happens spontaneously 
in nature.  I walk into the gym
renewed, a livelier bounce in my step.

proclamation: I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing   
     somewhere along the way
I stalled out
     or missed a turn
admission: I have a hard time letting go
which leads me to believe I, perhaps, made a way out of little in order to
stay
all the while, the Impetus had other plans
or so it seems
how can one be sure?
today I’m certain of very little, as far as what’s next
I’ve asked, hinted, shouted, cried
yet here I sit
front porch on a hot day
familiar, yet achingly so
response: answers will come because tomorrow is consistent
it always follows today

First ever ballgame

Chilly night at Crosley Field

Just me and my Dad

Winters, after sowing
flower seeds in plastic trays,
then setting them
in the warm garage
under a special greenish light,
my father watched,
waited, to glimpse
the tiny green heads
pushing through
the soft, silver-studded soil.

When we were dating we’d sit in a canoe
in Jacobson park
and we’d type pages of poems
on your typewriter
using specially selected
colored paper

You’d let me steal your cigarettes
when they were half finished.

We’d sit at your kitchen table
and draw page after page
of house plans, diagrams for made up worlds,
tarot cards, poems that swirl into curlicues
Or drawings and poems that you fold and add on to,
so that no one sees them in full
until the end

We’d sit in the back yard,
on the wooden swing
sipping cold creamed coffee
from dazzling cups
I’d read to you

Or you’d tell me long elaborate stories
and I’d paint them
Or I’d tell you about the future cloth-bound volumes
you’d make of your stories,
The accompanying art and merchandise
The millions of dollars
floating by on the breeze
like fluff balls
Emanating from your
Bird’s nest hair

Or we’d lay on our backs in the dark
with swirls of orange, pink and
green lights murmering
all around,
Swelling high to the tops of the giant trees
church bells sounding
within my soul

Nowadays we sit in the hammock or on the side wall,
the morning or evening
giving us colorful pulsing planets
or slanted half moons
or neighborhood cats and dogs
Racoons, possums, crows, vultures
a cast of human characters too

Now I listen to all the inspired or
flummoxing parts of your day
you tell me what you think of my new painting
or I listen to incredible music you coax
from the piano or the $6 goodwill
children’s guitar with three strings
or the keyboard, violin or piano

we lay there and play word games
or crosswords
and drink coffee
from those same dazzling cups

We rested 
on the bench
under a dogwood tree
she planted 
to shade her
when she visited 
them
……spouse passed when he was 59..
……son passed  when he was 59.

“He went to war when son was three.
I am glad he got back.”

“How did you get over it?”

“I don’t try to….”

Illusions of nuclear covalence
accentuate assumptions fairly made.
My presence fills a gap of faith.

Never one to split an atom, I’m
only sometimes sharing a few electrons
testing the extent of chemical cohesion.

Tonight might become a mockery of molecules
hovering on the edge of existence.
Entire futures rest in our hearts and hands.

Does it ever cross your mind, the bonding,
after electronegativities attract or repel?
Dipoles denied, my lonely little nucleus.

A trail in early summer sings to me

Something about trusting the dirt path

To guide you on an adventure

And faithfully bring you back

To be welcomed by the flora and fauna

For a moment to feel an innate sense of Belonging

From this is where you came

To this you will eventually return

Moss grows green beards on rocks and tree trunks

Ferns playfully bat at my feet as I pass

I hear a distant rush of water down a rocky creek

All around me is delightfully sun dappled and kissed by shadow

I get rewarded by a bird chorus

As if I’ve interrupted them mid-worship

Which is fitting as being deep on this trail

Is as close to church as one can truly get

Breathing to release the chi,feeling the flood of energy
Slowly stretching, reaching, twisting, sweat rolling, toxins going,
Hands and feet splayed wide, spine flat-savasana-reward at last.

Maggie Smith, I’ve got
good bones, too, but my body
is a house on fire.
Oh Maggie, what can we do
to make this place beautiful?