Every day is worth its weight.
The years pass on, and soon or late
your fields will grow up gold and tall
or fade away to naught at all.
Happy is as happy does.
The focus rests on you.
When things go south, you make or break
your chosen point of view.
We come to earth with full intent,
prepared to meet the call.
We cannot know what lies ahead,
but we have pledged our all.
Just when I think that I can see
all of the angles that are me,
another flashes into view
and makes me question what I knew.
Fall is a cozy season, made
to match my patchwork house.
What better spot for cider hot,
doughnuts for man
and holes for mouse?
In the mind or in the meadow,
we must find our starry night.
From the green hills or the ghetto,
we are moved to set things right.
Moths are drawn to light
and so am I,
wings awave against
the darkened sky.
Free to fly yet
bound by naked need,
anchored to a source
I won’t concede.
Love has an underbelly.
(Yes, my darling, even ours.)
There beneath the hearts and flowers
lie the burrs and scars.