time flows like water in a stream
never the same hours or days but
the landscape still remains the same
thus masking the years pushing by
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Four Lines
on this Memorial Monday
smoke from cookout fires and early
July 4th rockets drifts lazy
on a flag waving breeze
Four Lines
isn’t it inevitable
that the day my phone doesn’t charge
i’m stuck in a beige waiting room
listening to Frank Sinatra
Four Lines
we’re beset by an ill-tempered
wind blowing a southwesterly
tantrum of last-year’s leaves, upturned
cans and old lawn chairs
Four Lines
I hope when I am old I can
sit in a comfortable chair
asleep with my nose in the air
and insist I’m awake deadpan
Four Lines
it’s morning and the wind blows
west upriver dimpling the water
just enough to become a prism
scattering sunlight through green leaves
Four Lines
I watched the wings of a great blue
heron scoop two half moons of air
spindly legs and extra-large feet
trailing
Four Lines
does anyone else remember
lilacs on warm spring afternoons
filled with the scent of purple blooms
and the sweet sip of their nectar
Four Lines
I swear the river breathes deep just
before it rolls over the dam
for I can see its exhaled breath
lingering in the air
Four Lines
sometimes we can read history
in the land such as how a row
of sycamores mark the outline
for an old corduroy road
