Where have my words gone?

I’ve let them run

Like wicked children

And I’m a weary mother

Too tired to chase

I’ve followed them

From a distance

My eyes, penetrating the horizon

Where they’re likely to end up

As air

But I don’t trail

I let them run

My sight tires,  

The wind can only carry my voice

So far

Then, I know I’ve lost them

Then, I wish they’d return

But I’ve let them run 

Van Cortland Park

I sat before the shrine

Of perfection

Mother –

The spirit of life –

Suffused my soul

With piercing splendor

And I wept

Beauty sings to me in slow whispers

Its breath, the smell of fresh waters

Its sight, delicate droplets of rain

Disturbing the stillness of ponds,

Forming bands like halos

The whispers are faraway

Psalms – aged symphonies –  

Journeying with the breeze,

Resting in the breast of a willow

Stretching like the gentle glow

Of a languid sun amidst the desert 

Of the sky

It strikes deep 

Like a terrible harpoon

Sending ripples

Of rapture

And I weep

And I heed you

Out of the darkness

Of my cave

Will sprout life

Out of life

Or I vow to die

Trying

4th of July

Fireworks, like sunflowers

Amidst a hollow sky

BURST like

Bright balloons

Of light

And shimmy golden

Gunpowder,

Slipping softly

On slick air –

A sad

Dance

Of stars.

   

Fading flickers                    on black water

Like                                                      floating                                                candles

Funereal pageant

Of time