Descendants

                                                                                                                                   jo'b  

They have left again for Michigan,

and the yard returns to emptiness,

a ringing vacancy

in the gilded air of sunset,

anticipation replaced by longing

among abandoned chairs

still set up in the grass.

Above the woods in silhouette,

young blackbirds gather and rise,

flocking and strengthening

for their necessary migration

over ripened fields.

On the Cabin Porch Among Trees

As August begins                               jo'b   

                    The wind overhead

                    moves through the circling crowns,

                    leaf shadows drift on the great trunks

                    that are shifting their weight from foot to foot,

                    everything moving as far as we can see,

                    shifting in a wind that brings rain.

                    We, too, are shifting, you and me,

                    drifting on our inner tides

                    of wonder and change.

                    The universe in constant motion

                    renders stillness holy,

                    above us, the sound of the sea,

                    the rush of existence, the earth sound.

                    Let's just sit here in silence for awhile.

The Moon Again

jo'b   

The moon again

making an appearance

here to let us know

sometimes love returns.

Stand and cast a shadow.

The Difference

jo'b   

The birch by the gate,

you've passed it a hundred times in a week,

then someone tells you they care,

and the branch becomes stunningly new.

Those were the days.

Wistful Thinking

In the Zufall Cut                                (jo'b)    

                  You can feel it,

                  a shift

                  deep in the shadows

                  where the wild things reach for the sun,

                  deep in the thickening sky,

                  splendid and silent,

                  deep in the deep heart's core

                  where human compassion lies,

                  or is it only wistful thinking,

                  a common earthborn stasis,

                  deeper at the end of July?

Blooms in the Wasteplaces

jo'b   

And  I stand and watch your taillights

go over the hill for the last time,

Trying to decide if what I feel

is freedom or loss, when it is both.

The chickory has never been more vivid.

Old and Broken-Hearted

jo'b   

Monochrome, my days

Alone among the others,

Lovers lost in grays.

Hearts of Space

jo'b   

Our burning minds

Were the center

Of  the universe

Our double spiral

Our warp in time

Our supernova

Birds on a Wire

Click to expand.    (jo'b)   

Like parallel contrails,

blown this way and that by our times,

we may never meet,

But we each have our songs,

like birds on a wire,

birdsong and windsong,

and thoughts are songs, too,

And typed lines are songs,

so sing to me then,

and I'll sing to you.

Message rates may apply.

 

Organic

 

jo'b.  

Hilltop where the fields are not sprayed

where sheep graze and swallows weave

where the wind blows and neighbors wave

where children run and laugh in the winrows

and know a kestral by its hover

where sometimes near sunset

there's not another human sound

but your own heart clenching

and the hum of the universe in your head

and there's peace on earth

peace on earth

and you wish it could last.