potted tree shadows

i see you beneath
potted tree shadows building
cream walls and bridges


“I hope they’re not right about the rain tomorrow,” Miss Roz smiles to a stranger.


“I am starting to wonder what the world would be like if people were as curious about other natural phenomena, as they are about the weather.”


“What did Mark Twain say? Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it?”


I have control issues.

I have control issues.

I have control issues.


Here’s how I influence the weather….


I don’t drive.

(license suspended)

I don’t drink bottled water.

(don’t drink any water at all)

I don’t eat vegetables from far away.

(have acute lachanophobia)


so, control isn’t my only issue.

but, the environment,

with its pervasiveness,

necessity,  and joy,

should be one of yours.


To Spring’s Return

The bluejay’s return relieves my soul’s winter.

Wary of me, he sings from a distance.

Home has not always been a sanctuary.

Last fall, our good-bye kiss was vampiric.


I don’t expect forgiveness or impact.

I only hope for your touch, time, space.

Stop fleeing or I’ll devolve to bluejay.

Implied condescension meant. You may fly,

but I’m sky in my lone universe spring.

Abandoned, I wail blush dogwood petals.


A tree without a forest, leaves unfurl.

Open, upward, plaintive palms begging note.

No visitors come, deep roots thin, brittle.

No connection, commune, family, flow.

I live as I gulp my solar  savior.

Hands close, eyes shut, deaf to blue jay’s new call.

Blooming has proved more painful than hiding.


Breathless, I shrink sensing late petals,

the light tunnel beyond spring’s tepid fires.