Alphabet City

I hold the shape of you in my mind,
and draw it - a single curved stroke 
in my heart

cc: CC '22

What can you say in a moment
that has all you'd ever want,
ever so fleeting...
the thought 
alone suffices
to keep up with the shift 
in emphasis where words add lag
delay what is inevitably
an outcome of predilection
for the fastest path
from anywhere but here

straight as an arrow returns to the earth
at the end of its flight, in a perfect arc,
so I appeal to the time and to the breeze,
the moist air filled with sweet grass,
even this far past the end of the summer,
only late harvests now remain, imperfect days - 
too cold or too wet, too short with each sunset,
too beautiful to be among the last

cc: CC '22

The mice 'round my way 
have been eating my cannabis plants,
I can hear them humming old Doors tunes

cc: CC '22

Once again I hear 
the loving rain in 
the surround
about me
it explains
slowly 
for those
who'd listen
to sprinkles persist
of puddle spritz
gutters running
a gush - a tiny waterfall
over stones stacked 
against a corner-wall
where rivulets originate
to run down the driveway
thin tendrils of cool black rain
ever moving and I are one

cc: CC '22

In the holocene,
post-pleistocene,
the poets thought
the ferns to be
more blue-green

cc: CC '22

Dive into the complexity,
it will yield its virginity
in luscious strokes

cc: CC '22

An artist revels in her loneliness

cc: CC ‘22

...fill your pipe from here
where the milkiest crystal is...

cc: CC '22