Disconnections: July 24.18

Some of us know it

from school days gone by

the rarified glow

of a holycard sky.

Angels and saints

no laggards allowed

canopied ever

by holycard cloud

its edges alive

with a peachy-gold hue

it had to be thus —

plain white wouldn’t do.

It all seemed marshmallowy

pretend, and ideal,

but I see it right now

undeniably real.

 

A word about holycards: they were tokens of acknowledgement given out in Catholic schools ever so long ago. They all depicted role models. Kind of like baseball cards but more flowy. And with lilies. In that time a coveted laurel.

 

 

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Disconnections: June 8.18

Platinum gild

on buttermilk sky

no wonder Icarus

flew too high.

 

 

Connections: March 29.18

I wish I could send you, dear reader, a bit of this morning. We are due for yet another day of rain (have mercy!), but right now the rain is merely a hint, heavy in the air. It is barely day, but there is enough light to make the budding trees crisp against a bland sky. They aren’t moving. The pond is steady glass. The air is early-spring warm and utterly still, as though afraid if it breathed it would cease to be.

I can hear a mourning dove and some kind of chirpy thing, both chanting their Lauds, each in its own way. I can also hear the rainwater draining into the pond, a gurgling antiphonal to the birdsong. There is an occasional car which sounds far away. Mostly I am swathed in quiet. I feel like an intruder, but I stay, also trying not to breathe.

Have you ever wanted to put a moment in your pocket so you could pull it out again when you need it?

 

 

Connections

Connections: March 21.18

The snow bedecks the deck

the swing and windowsill

and expletives explode

from every daffodil.

Connections

Connections: February 18.18

Of the dawn I asked

Do you burn with frost or fire?

Is this the scald

of ice or ire?

Are you flushed with fever

reflected pain

or with northern lights

of frigid disdain?

 

 

Connections

 

Connections: January 24.18

Winter dawn

births day in gold

Iris-swaddled

against the cold.

 

 

Connections

 

 

 

January 16.18

Twig by twig alit

hoarfrost incandescence

winter morning’s bloom

crystalled efflorescence.