Every civilization a lake
At my lakeside hungry geese
blunder to a crawl.
Some fall in the woods, like rain,
slight and sparse, while others
upward in purchase of pride and screem.
My role is feeding the light that
labors my wings to
neighboring lakes and stream.
What must we do?
I circle my sphere and
cause the loud speaker:
kill, heal, sever, conjugate,
Desires of the mind for the right and wrong
there quiver like oracles that instruct us
to cold and hot words apart.
Clouded judgment, whatever its source.
The Dead Center
A life time lost in search of a
concrete center – visiting sadness
wrapped in grey and brown, this
slowest detriment to love I desire.
Is there still, I wonder, as the hum of
years fizzle before my eyes, anything