Free Verse
For The Lone
Bird
Having taken the awaited
package from
the mail box, I look up and see behind
the winter window, my son's mute
enthusiasm. That he, in his long
and troubled isolation, can still be made
happy by so little, touches me. And I think
of the sorrows surely to come (sorrows I
cannot hope to help, who in my role
have helped to make them probable).
And seeing him, so brave and trusting,
behind that winter window, that silent
window, I feel something akin
to heartbreak, and my far-seeing eyes
brim for the lone bird over the endless sea.
Lights Across
The River
In summer you never thought a
town
so close, not even when hearing shreds
of music wafted through the river's
jungle-voluptuous trim on clover
scented evenings; but now, as you
look far across this tiny tundra
of winter fields to where the distant
trees are stuck like antlers along
the river's edge, the lights beyond
are very near. Interesting
to think how in our time, oceans
have shrunk from months to hours, and yet
this unbridged abridged Amazon
still separates by half a year.
