Changing

September morning

Brisk Cool

Summer begins to retreat

Pushing onward

So much to do

before we are reborn

A Turning of Seasons

How slowly the world moved

as a child in the classroom

moments before the bell rang

freeing you for a season

Luxuriating in the days 

of your youth 

Freedom of the purest kind

Hiding and seeking 

Chasing each other

around the neighborhood

Cars in the street driving by

never bothering to slow

Be careful your mother said

One afternoon

a smear of crimson

on the asphalt

Summer turned to Fall

On Mornings

A season of impending Winter
Brooding mornings
Waiting for sunlight
How long must we wait
beneathe the ashen sky

Your naked body covered
by thin sheets
I hear you breathe quietly
in perfect stillness of morning
I cannot sleep again
So I sit and listen
rather than wake you

An empty nest in the branches
of the tree No fluttering wings
back and forth to this former home
Mother and chicks since departed

Another day
Another night
How easy it is
How difficult it is
to face it all once again

even summer flees

warm mornings give way to grey

the turning of seasons

Slow march to summer
Days of endless warmth and youth
Watching starry nights

Life without seasons
Create order from chaos
Close enough to life 

Bareness

Season of bare branches
And frigid waters

Fruits have long been picked
Or fallen to the ground

Dead leaves are now hidden
Or swept away by wind

Nature sleeps soundly
As we scurry through cold

Fire as both death and life
We carry on

season without end
patiently waiting for rain 
gray clouds gathering

In the Heart of Winter

The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember
the comfort of warmth,

both literal and figurative.
The heart of Winter
is a good time to remember

those we have lost and the
memories of them we hold
within, to carry us forward.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to give thanks
for the simple act of being.

The heart of Winter
is a good time to cross the
distances of space

and think of those who
would be at our side
if they could.

The heart of Winter
is the reminder we need,
after the leaves have fallen

and the branches are bare,
that our lives remain in season.
The heart of Winter

leaves me breathless at
the journey so far and
the journey yet remaining.

Welcome to Summer

It was the first heat wave of summer to hit the city,

windows were open everywhere there wasn't an AC

unit. Fans recirculated hot air.


He was sick of sitting around the house and feeling

sweat for doing nothing at all. He put on a pair

of sandals and a shirt and walked out the door.


The key slid into the car door with no effort.

A small rush of hot air greeted him as he sat down.

The seatbelt clasp closed as he let the parking


brake go. There was a stretch of empty road by the

beach that was going to be perfect for this drive.

The dashboard said 11:16 p.m.

Winter and Summer can never be together.

Lazy Bones

Desire burns only as long the fire is stoked.
The coldness of a time passed wraps itself
around you tight enough to raise the goose
flesh on your arms. What is fiction and what
is truth?

Don't forgive me, I said to as I stood in
the doorway between what we'd been and
what we'd become.

I'll never be able to forget your eyes puffed
and pouring streams to flow from either
side of your face.

I turned my back to walk away, each step
a brick in a wall laid between us, higher
and higher

until there was nothing left to see. I smash
my firsts into it time to time, flesh scraped,
blood flowing hotly.

They told me they found you face down
the next morning. All I've been able to do
is keep those bricks coming.

The wall keeps getting higher and thicker.
the memory lingers like a weed growing
from a crack in the pavement.

There is no heart left to rip the weed from
the ground. Even if I did, the roots would
remain firmly in the ground.

A Laughing Nature

Distance needn't be only calculated in kilometers.
Time is a distance that doesn't care for
Miles or Metric measurement.
The cycles of the seasons,
the progression of
Winter to
Spring to
Summer to
Fall
is the only
sense of time that exists,
though if nature could speak
we can be sure she would laugh at our notion
and ask us to watch
the sun and moon crossing the
heavens.

Leaves on the branches
as they brown and fall.