he pounds the asphalt
I walk the woods
his hand chilled refutes You
my fingers weave warm ‘tween yours
his soul listens deaf to You
my heart sings full of You
he is desert
I am rain
~ ~ ~
Quotidian
they have passed here
every morn lo thirty years
in the winter each breath
unfurls a flag of moistened mist
in the summer flapping loose their
ragged shorts and thin worn slippers
nary give a nod a neighbor for
better friends there attached by leashes
them the same never mindful of the season
~ ~ ~
Outdated
clothed in darkness
slippers stead of sandals
the dew yet wet upon the lawn
gray hair rustles without her comb
paces direct ahead save
an alerting gaze askance a chance
another may she encounter
back home
seeing none save her paper awaits
to find the news of Yesterday
~ ~ ~
Prescriptions
her story bare begun
quick tangled in the telling
twisted down the road
tired ‘ere her finish
~ ~ ~