A Poet

That was not it at all; that is not what I meant at all

A poet told me this but his lines
Said something else, reading between,
Something else again. How am I to think
With so much meaning?

Dry Landscape - 2015

Journey north in a late, late summer;

Try to tell if change in the air 

Has seeped into the ground.

Water, buildings, shanty sheds, 

Seen from the roadway,

Seem otherwise the same,

Reflecting a slate sky.

Linear

Rising sap.

Liquid iterations of soil
Upwardly mobile
Defy gravity.

In phloem and xylem
The line from earth to heaven
Is drawn.

Other lines
Cross the horizon
A line itself
Contorted by landscape
Placated by sky.

Secret Agent

Phone is ringing.
Again.

A voice whispers in my ear
And I know already
What I am about to say.

Welcome…

The outside sun is only rising
On a day like today
Because dense cloud has parted
And red sky warns of rain to come,
Warning us all who sell the benefits
Of different clothes, or better weather.

Dialects of Human

In Babylon, the works of men,
Hands crabbing in the dirt,
Raise edifices to the sky.