I tried to generate destiny once,
scraping dreams from under
over-buffed rocks no longer showing signs
of weather sprinkled over millennia.
I suppose the clinical approach to fate
leaves little to chance and I often think
the odds that I somehow found you
preposterously implausible.
But here we are. Winds pound rocks
into sand and I count myself lucky
that I no longer have to sift, looking for
what I’ve managed to uncover in you.
Without realizing it we shrink our world
until it fits inside a box
and things left outside find ways
to poke holes in our reality.
Nature abhors a vacuum
and my floor is a mess.
I can’t stand dirt
clinging to my beige carpet.
The snow breathed heavy that day,
a jolt of icy white confetti celebrating
winter’s return. Paralyzed by the cold,
we watched, transfixed by the beauty
and ferocity, as winter played out
its first act. Dazzled by the scene, I reached
without thinking for the cold,
the glass chilly and inhospitable
on my fingers as I tapped myself
into the performance.
A stag, startled, heard my intrusion
and stared at us, a spark of terror
in his eyes, hoofs frozen in fluffy earth.
Nothing moved as he stood
staring in a stupor as snow and tree limbs
cascaded around those antlers, majestic
and stock-still. What bravery to survive
the savagery spitting numbing flakes
on a naked face.
Just as suddenly he stirred from his bluff
and disappeared behind the stormy curtain,
forever relieving me of his second act.
And I, roused and staring only at
my own reflection in the poorly insulated
window, resolved to buy some weather strips
and better protect myself from
nature’s cruelty.
Ambushed by the moon
reflecting a solar absence
while waxing poetic
behind fast swimming clouds,
we sit on the front porch
waiting.
A cool fall breeze
exclaims its presence, hinting
at a storm or other ominous things
just beyond the horizon. What surprises
lay before us, hoping to astound,
to break us
from an evening reverie
as we wait?
Wait, listening
to the remaining leaves
blowing above revealing that moon,
a marvelous wonder hinting
at a universe we know
nothing about.
We know nothing of what’s beyond
these leaves, this moon, mysteries
that baffle us, sitting, waiting on
our small planet,
an island amidst the nothing
of space matter.
Then the pizza shows up and nothing
else matters.
The sun peaks between the timber
unsure, hesitant to reveal
itself fully to an insipid world
too often indifferent
to its nourishing warmth.
And still we look to it
to illuminate the beauty too often
unnoticed – the greens shining
with life, brilliant and glistening
in the early morning.
But the pond holds close its treasures,
refusing to admit
the luminous gleam as we are left
to wonder what mysterious riches
lay submerged,
twirling in the dark
secret celebrations beneath the calm – looking
glass turning beauty
upside down
for our benefit. I dare not
provoke ripples.
What about this butterfly,
hovering just outside
my window,
quietly scratching nectar
from an otherwise tranquil
goldenrod?
What order abounds
while vibrant wings drum,
beating back air,
shivering antennae
recently born, absorb
the serenity of another
summer day, newly tranquil,
nature’s repose?
What glamour transforms
the inching caterpillar,
ambling to
metamorphosis, quaking
bravely to destiny,
emerging improved, firm
from an otherwise tranquil
slumber?
What life occurs, unheard
harmony fluttering,
revived in sunlight,
revealing the joy
of a pedestrian world
breathing beyond my reach,
viewed
through aperture?
