How far? I ask
(is the ocean)
whenever we are somewhere
the ocean is not –
often comes the reply
“not far..”
(Perhaps a few hour’s or a day’s drive)
‘Not far’
is a distance measured
on the scent of a breeze
something palpable in the atmosphere
in fog rolling across the land
‘Not far’
is the rhythmic, plaintiff cry
marking that place
where shore and sea
precipitously meet.
Sitting on the park bench she said, ‘catch me some sparkles to take home in a jar!’ So when we are far from here on a dark and dreary day I can remember this moment – Smell the tide see again the sun dancing on the water.
Planning a return to France began in January – a far reach from youth, when ‘the plan’ was nothing (but) a plane ticket, suitcase and love As winter ebbed and Spring came into bloom I deleted items from my list: étudier la langue (at the top) confirm passports, airline tickets technology requirements to stay in…
Je vois une femme mais, I cannot see what she sees (sitting alone dans le jardin)…
Starting at the river Abercorn charts its course through the Historic District Victorian District, into Ardsley Park where 20th century takes hold and on past bungalows of the fifties and sixties Derenne marks the break where past and present meet the world to the right across the intersection – anachronistically into the sky – rises…
August hangs heavy in the air uncomfortably cloaking all who venture outside August forced open its eyes later this morning than yesterday labored breathing hissing over soon ssooooon (I found a cicada lying silent in the street on my morning walk today) What happened to May’s sweet promise the glittering dance of June July’s sultry…
Sun’s first rays pick at the blinds teasing them open just a little then its long fingers stretch across the room and tickle my face Outside the world moves in slow motion gulls doze on a diamond sea whose only movement is a ripple as it turns over in its sleep A few birds lazily…