I reach for the handrail,
every tentative step
aftermath of last night’s
heavy rain

I reach for the handrail,
every tentative step
aftermath of last night’s
heavy rain
watching a golfer stride up the fairway,
I’m unsure whether this be man or woman.
the gait appears to be that of the latter.
the attire, well, I’m just not sure —
salmon-pink patterned shorts, a beige top —
could be, maybe, either / or
but those white, nearly shin-high socks!
I’m inclined to believe most women would fail
to commit such a fashion faux pas.
so, could this be a man I see before me?
silly, I know, to expend precious energy
on such a whimsical pondering for certainly
I have more important things to worry about.
but still, I really am given to wonder…
thunder!
and lots of it —
it’s been rumbling
all morning.
what a shame
I’ve left the cushions out.
the only time I’ve done so
all summer
and now, it’s positively
raining buckets out there.
I’ll not complain though.
they’ll dry.
eventually.

Another sartorial lovely, ruined.
Roger never took seriously
*
her love affair with clothing.
Blood stains can be notoriously
*
difficult to remove.
Especially if one isn’t diligent
*
about pre-treating the fabric
or setting the right water temperature.
*
Still, the man was so
precociously cute—and sweet,
*
his Soul of Darkness,
the ultimate turn-on.
*
Valerie forgave his transgressions
time and again. Nocturnal
*
relationships, she was quick to learn,
are not without their limitations.

sketchbook renderings
a hard-covered novel
*
tending to flowers, soil & seed,
cuttings and snips of vibrant joy
*
images drawn & carved,
then patiently inked to paper
*
laptop & phone, untouched
for hours at a time
*
bliss that comes from doing,
rather than becoming undone
a friend dares us to do the air step
we can make it a winter project, she says
I’m sixty-nine; coordination, never my forte
but I’m game I tell her
*
I’m game
rearranging
the art on our walls,
I’m enthralled
with each new
perspective


bolts of thunder
sweetly maligning
the ruin of song

~ written, with much admiration, after Mary Oliver
When did it happen?
“Long before I knew something like this could ever transpire.”
*
Where did it happen?
“In a forgotten place where soft-shell clams gather at dawn.”
*
No, tell. Where did it happen?
“Where the sound of the sea rushes in to the wild chambers of the heart.”
*
What is your heart doing now?
“Oh, child. It longs so for you.”

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