the faceless ones here
have no eye on history
for history ended in fire and ash
only that which came before
and in their final
choking, smoking breaths
was of significance to them,
they bore no witness
imparted no wisdom
once the darkness lifted
and their flesh turned to sand
within their killer’s embrace.

The Grey Angel Fell

the mourners came
some filed past her silent frame
a march of apparent curiosity
rather than elegiac vigil,
others, as stoic spectators
sat atop the station house
daring not to fly down
and face their own mortality.

yesterday she had wings
and soared as they
from post to pole and roost
today the grey angel fell
and so the mourners came.

perhaps the doves will weep.

Dream Embrace

he awoke to the soft embrace
of a warm breeze on his face
and lay there a while, motionless
lest he should the moment curse
his eyes still closed he held the scene
oft designed inside his dreams
green valleys of a summer’s end
through its pathways he would wend
to her door of promised rest
where his head lay upon her breast
there she would gently touch his face
in this endless dream’s embrace.

My Cat

cat, it’s said, may look at a king
and even ponder the magpie’s wing
in his walk he’ll stalk the crow
his tail held high, his head held low
all things that move and fly and stir
he’ll thread into his fabled purrs
that he relates his tales upon
when the tiger’s soul he dons
but looking at both bird and king
is likely this cat’s everything.

Heaven’s Song

Indifferent and indistinct
the song thrush ayrs to prayers aspire
its voice hid long beyond the trees
a no man’s land of brush and briar
where the gods’ small treasures dwell
apart from he who would be lord
and here their simple lives do tell
among the boughs now green and broad.
Thus apart sit I and strain to hear
the throstle’s hymnal to the skies
and as a kiss upon my ear
her song from heaven seems to fly.