Art, Poems, and Prose
Poems
Deliverance
Strangers
Leave little brown boxes
On my doorstep.
I know what they contain:
Promises offered, made mine
After a small exchange.
Yet I tear them open
With joy and delight
(and a surprising amount of surprise)
Though I was told their contents
From the start.
How, then,
Am I so disinterested
In the eventual delivery
Of Heaven.
Couches Like Coffins
Couches, like coffins
Enshroud them.
Curled up in situ
Faces illumined and pale.
Their hours and days
Yielded up,
Nullified
By their hand hell’d screens.
A practice death
For those who forget
They are living?
Oak
A white mark,
A morning’s work;
One hundred concentric years
Thrown to dust.
And two hundred
That may have been
That shall not be.
And not a shade
Or shadow
To remember you by.
Graduation Haiku
This nest is holy
Love-lined for young wing-bearers
But too soon emptied.