Falling
In the working dawn,
there is the dew upon the tall grass,
and the light which shines
tiny diamonds in the greens.
And the wind,
which whips poems through my hair
as I run through the fields,
ever falling forward.
Seventy-eight Degrees and Sunny
Never seen a deeper blue;
never held a greener blade;
never had a better day
to find a place to hide away,
lay down my weight,
and die
with a smile on my face.
Shutterclick
Pots,
pans,
dirty spoons on the kitchen floor.
Tire swings and limp balloons,
and dreams,
stained to the pillow.
