It’s spring
So much that
It's almost like a little summer
The birds are chirping
I don't remember flirting
Last time feels so long
Ago
So teach me birds
Wake me up

No drugs
Just love!

Even in a ******* town, the trees
Blush with their leaves of red and golden yellow
It creeps up gently every year
Until the sun shies away so early
And the cold day is over so soon

Everything’s quite insignificant when
The world unfolds her loving arms
At this angle of the sun, this pinpoint in shifting time
I feel shadowed by the sun yet
Enlightened by the expansive sky

The last green leaves cling tightly to the trees
But everything else in freefall, barring gravity
Who am I but a drop in the ocean?
Who am I but a kiss to the breeze?
Still, they crinkle in the sunlight

My life may remain meaningless
These days may never know true peace
And we’re so small, splattered against the
Endless background of the earth and the sun
Dwarfed beneath the stretches of indiscriminate sky

W~ white whispy flakes slowly drifting to the ground
I~ indoors, bundled, huddled, snuggled, & cuddled
N~ nature's greatest showcase
T~ trees trembling naked in the bitter blowing winds
E~ eyes sleepily gazing at the warm flickering candlelight
R~ resting...resting. . . r e s t i n g . . .

The very air is different in those places so untouched,
smooth and unburdened.
You can fill yourself, let it in with a breath
and it will seek every crack and crevice,
it swirls in the lungs and mends.

You could just about leap -
cast yourself from the very pinnacle of earth,
Forget the stone which proffers you
an open palm to the waiting sky,
Let the renewing air cradle you,
lift you up and twist you around,
show you the world as it sees
the wrinkles in a quilted landscape.

Scramble your fingers
along the jagged earth
to find purchase.

Oh, the drop, the fall,
the catch of breath,
how it sings,
how it calls!

At the beach house
you don’t need much
an old mossy table
the boards
collaged in pine needles
a firepit
domed by scorched
trees huddling
stitched together
as one quilted canopy
hoping for wisdom below
A snappy fire
fanning air
that
grows crisp
and birds
the birds
oh the birds
their songs above
always their songs
around.

Cold snaps me awake,
staring at gaps in the stars.
How long has it been?

Sunrise quiet
hiking through
the dropping blush of autumn

the morning after election day

inside the trails of forested
trees that were not allowed
a vote

coming upon a canyon
splitting
the un-United States
down the spine

pondering the illusion
of human separation

We reach down and *****
a bridge
sweeping
over the chasm

Next,
we tie a rope swing
to the oak branches above

and unmoor the canoes
from the cedar docks below

Americans stand on
each side,
holding up
similar signs
clear in
truth and oneness

our shared desires
and basic needs

The signs
reading;

Freedom
Safety
Health
Respect
Home
Work
Joy
&
repeating grandly,
over
and over;
**
Love.

Slowly,
as the drops
of dew transform
to puddles

and the sun
lifts to crown
us all in lemon light

we raise up
our shovels
and begin
the work of
filling in the
imaginary
canyon

That once
suffered
divide.

Vintage Dive
In elder times
humans filled
caves with
sorrow
for
watching summer’s
fall into
the seasons of night

As a surprising
consolation,

we were gifted Autumn

with her vintage
palate of violet
plums and gilded
acorns,

buried under
mosaics of
variegated leaves

which dive through
the dawn
after
bravely
letting go

spiraling
southward
stirring
the season’s ***
while
painting
the forest floor
in
a masterpiece
of welcome
change.