Alphabet City

The wind-chime alerts me
to the presence of zephyrs
breezes there in the moment
present anon and shortly
thereafter I am whisked
past treetops to the very top
of a world turned turvy-topsy a
tourist at low altitude a
one person echelon I party on
linger on I cruise there but 
not missile more like
a small bird on a gentle bank
across a yard a Spring or Summer 
or an Autumn day for it's not Winter yet 
and of course there is Sun and of
course there's dew it's morning time 
for air to move the music, stir the heart

cc: CC '22

...and the soft rain's irregular patter
convinces me that the night is still young

I am caught in-between 

the droplets

                                            far
and near

         is the only sound in the dark

is me
in the dark

a collar up keeps me warm 
and a blanket overhead keeps out
the shiver

I'm a child 
             in a tent
      a reveler
in the storm

cool water sprays
my forehead - and I am blessed

baptized

immortally timeless
morally tireless

relentless in the pursuit
of the hum of the now

cc: Chagall '22

Seems lately
all I do is fall,
trip lightly like
a tongue-twisted
fool yet again,
forego the light,
should I stay?

So easy to cascade
to that place past the horizon 

to fade



away



to where 

the new day breaks
where surf hugs me close 
to sand, and I rise...

I glisten in sun
prisms all about me
damp and saline

tethered alive



cc: CC '22

How does the wind keep track
of the trillions of leaves it blows

the infinite tiny barbs of feather
it ruffles in flight

the colorful kites strung taut 
in their journeys, guiding youthful hands 

the dandelion dander on behalf of a wish
on its way to new-found love

the many tears on cheeks to account for,
to someday dry to whisk away

the aromas it wafts,
the melodies it lilts

the voices it fades,
this busy wind

cc: CC '22

The white-throated sparrow trills a song 
for her travels in search of long and warmer days

Young call to old, call to young, 
a call for all to rise up, to spread wings

The chatter in the local aerie,
the ado - the buzz about the canopy

The eldest is gone

cc: CC '22

he would,
she would

I certainly would...

why wooden shoe?

cc: cc '22

this breaks the silence
while rainfall patters softly
the intent to be

cc: CC '22

Books on the shelves
remind me who I've been

Of whom I am

And in the marginalia,
hints to what I'd be

cc: CC '22

Fucking close enough?
No!...Wait...Now! 
That's close e-fucking-nough

cc: CC '22

Each day I am dressing and accessorizing
to more and more closely resemble
my personalized memoji 

cc: CC '22