Look Away

10 December 2011

The pot boils,

the flower blooms,

the writing fades,

the light glooms.

We watch without blinking,

eyes watering, winking--

still, the child grows,

flourishes, goes

when we look away.

Topography

5 December 2011

A barely visible cross-hatch of history

lies below my eyes;

a topographical diary of thirty-five years’

experience, foul and fair, each impression

faintly faded as a fabric’s fold

that will never lay flat

no matter how hot the iron,

no matter how hard the press.

For a Time

4 December 2011

I have learned there’s a treatment
to amputate whatever
silence cannot be tolerated,
whatever noise needs hushed.
Extremities are a nuisance, even when
Nature herself dictates that I receive
the gift of acute feeling
for a time. To numb is the norm;
Experience has become
a choice against the grain--
to dive in, to know, to stay sane
amidst the chaos.