Be-Longing

Driving to work today, I noticed that the shadows were bolder beneath the trees,
felt warmer from where I was sitting.


God writes poetry in the sky, paints it on with watercolors.


Darkness begins
to gather on the grass,
creeps across it slowly
as the sun sets




Together again
you and I the Night.

What shall it be?
Shall we read? Study?
Write a story or perhaps watch t.v.?

Or shall we just sit here and be?
Clear our minds of all so-called reality.

Shall we write poetry?
Ah yes. We both agree.

The Night belongs t o Poetry.



a man weeps
in a chair
next to a window

where

loss remembers
a boy crying
in the March rain



Alexander— my beautiful son lies sleeping
on the couch while the dog beneath my chair dreams.
Alex joins in.