Before the Cold Returns

I drink the sun.
I drink it through my skin,
lifting up my head
as if taking
a long swallow.

Written in response to Drinking by Jean Morris at Trail Mix

How absentmindedly ...

how absentmindedly
I rip the twig
from the soft bark of the tree

Noises Off

the little early thunder
runs around the sky
sounding like children’s footsteps
up and down the hall

Coffee in the courtyard

Coffee in the courtyard.
The low buildings,
the palms and frangipani,
the warm autumn sun
make me feel I’m in Darwin
or Bali, or Nepal.
‘It would be nice to be there,’
my companion says.  Yes,
and it’s nice to be here.

Snowy Mountains

Snowy mountains
of cumulous cloud
float in the sky,
directly above
the earth mountains
as if copying.

When I think

When I think there might be
a ghost in the house
I become modest,
undressing discreetly
and shutting doors.

In March

The spiders
are coming inside
out of the rain.
Autumn begins
with storms;
the winds rip off
whole branches.

11-12/3/11

tsunami
advancing across the screen
unfathomable

******

can turn off
the TV news, but not
the images

Watching Paris

The TV shows Paris,
Eiffel Tower jutting
into an overcast sky.

A beautiful city, I am told
by those who know it,
one of the most
beautiful in the world.

But I am unable to see
beauty in cities.
The Tower is grey
under all that cloud.
Around it, grey buildings
cram the screen.