interiors

with the clouds

what would it be like

to float above, seeing the earth

as flyers do –

wings soundless, soaring…

worries 

caught in stalks

of corn, drying in the sun

 

 

thoughts echo

questions reverberate

as I lie, restless

among twisted sheets.

Rising, I open

the shades to windows

streaked with rain.

morning presses its face

against clouds, lightening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

clarity

absorbed

Static

The note he seeks lies buried

among other notes, some stapled together,

the years collapsing.

Scraps lay scattered like his thoughts –

drifting into piles, getting lost

beneath therapists’ schedules.

Two cars sit

side by side in the garage, with another

in the drive. He asks his doctor, “Can I

do emergency driving?”

“No.”

“Maybe my dermatologist will say yes.

It’s in my legs…”

At 90.7,

where is the path to clarity?

Does it follow the path of love?

winter’s sun

 

brushes the lake –

gilding

stilled waters with 

pearled hues

 

 

 

suspended

 

suspended

above the surface

colors blaze, then fade

like sparks

from a campfire

as the white time

draws near

 

suspended

over mirroring depths

chill winds approach,

fingering

leaves from branches,

their stories grown cold

 

suspended 

emotions fray, strung

on filaments, tossed

by winds of worry

– where will

they land? in whose

hands are they secure? 

 

suspended 

I long to let go,  to be

lifted

into the clarity of blue skies,

at rest with the clouds

 

early this morning

I walk the path,
air moist, coccooned
in layers of voices

mist rising over the lake

in the balance

thoughts drift
caught between the now
and what may be