PLAIN OLD FEAR

It was plain old fear.

It had followed me for years,

and yet I had never seen it

as it really is,

but yesterday it yelled

in pain

as it prepared to die.

It didn’t actually die,

but simply disappeared

like vanishing haze,

or a wordless summer evening.

It was dressed in scraps,

its bones were twisted,

its face was like dusk

as it disappeared

among the limitless stars.

LEANING

Lean on me,

her hand said to her chin.

So she did,

while the wind outside

leaned against the houses

and the houses leaned over

to let the trees speak

and the trees leaned

with their leaves

and the leaves leaned

on each other like friends

and friends in Asia

and America leaned

into each other’s lives.   

DAREDEVIL

He’s a daredevil
when he drives to school.
He dares to do the speed limit
precisely as it’s posted.
He’s brave enough to
take his time turning corners,
to come to a total stop
at stop signs. He even smiles
and waves to strangers in crosswalks,
a gutsy act for a guy.
See if you can spot him.
He’s the slowest car
on the street, the one
with the chutzpah
to choose giving way
over getting ahead,
the one
with the daring driver.

CLOUDS

They can help

when you need a heart-filled

fall of rain, or a stretch of shady days,

or a little coolness

to care for your troubles.

They can cry with you,

and can float above you

like life preservers,

and can cover your day

like a quilt. Light

and soft like you,

they are still strong

like you.

THE WIND

The wind blew,
but not just by his house.
He knew it was blowing
in Nebraska, and near
an old broken man in Maine,
and behind the eyes of someone
whose family has forgotten her,
someone who lives in this world
like a wind herself,
a gust that goes by you
and you keep going
to the store to get groceries,
and she blows out
across a sea with no shores.
He sat with his book
and listened to the wind,
the words calling out
like lost friends.

CREATION

It starts in commonplace things,
in a glance, in a voice.
It can start as we're standing
in the supermarket
with loaves of refreshing bread
in our basket.
Hands moving stylishly
as they tie the laces on shoes
could be the beginning.
A piece of perfect toast
could start a procession of thoughts
that never stops.

ONE WINDOW

He had only one window

but it brought what he needed --

the night with its modest secrecy,

the morning making its light,

two trees standing just

as they’ve always wanted to stand.

Say he lived in paradise,

would it be any better

than his single small window

with wonders smiling in

at him?