Hummingbirds Soon

Something has shifted
Accept it as a kindness
Let go of what wants to leave
Welcome what comes next

Nothing original about those words
Some Buddhist sounding platitude
But last night it was clear to me
And this morning, it's no less so.

Ride

Some kind of path
real or delusional
guinea pig in a hotel
thick smell of ganja
instructions, rhythmic
contractions, a dirt
truck lot and crows
talking in the branches
above the dumpster...

A diner, a straight and tall
hostess checking on the tables,
Polish, all the cakes made by her hand,
the owner, introduces me to them all
individually, not too sweet, she leaves
her number for me, an invitation,
with a tired smile, hopeful...

Next the rock shop across
the parking lot, healing rose
quartz, others looking for it too,
electrified hand shakes,
unabashed,  she calls herself a
visionary, says so on her card,
you walk out with a pyramid,
a smile, and a belief that something
just happened.

It's Spring,
something's shifting,
letting the car take you
where it will. 

April, come she will...

All of us looking at the moon alone

Radio story of Walt Whitman
casting his gossasmer strands
seeking his soul's companion
never finding, always longing,
making his music from that.

You're driving through moon
and starlight, bright white streaks of cloud,
remember walking with her at 3 am
under cold stars and silent moon,
her mittened hand in yours.

You watched her, bundled and seeing,
wondering if your hands touching,
under that magic sky, did to her
what it did to you, wondering if she
could hear the music too.

Progress I Guess

When I look back

from here

I can no longer see you

without straining, 

it's as though I've traveled 

around a bend in the road

and there is now

a stand of trees

between us.

You are no longer always

there.

Signal

A red balloon held
in the low branches of a pine tree,
it wasn't trying to fly, in fact
it seemed more concerned with
making sure I saw it there.