something could fall

sun rises everywhere at once
straight up out of the earth with the hum
of fans moving air the lake would move
for nothing on a day of broken
clouds, floor lights that illuminate
the way out in red – something is
rising on every corner

a construction worker,
hard hat in hand,
stops in the street
with morning coffee
to contemplate something
Frank Lloyd Wright designed
before he gets down to work on
something else

roofers shout over hammering, one
says I have pictures to prove it
and man, was she pissed
but there is no architect on hand
with a plan to connect these pieces, so
they drift down into the hum and the words
and the hammering and the trucks
and a dog barks

clouds gathering make you think
something could fall before the day’s out

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under the city

Two orioles perch
in an interval between
trucks, joggers

chatter by
in pairs. Orioles
fly, Columbine

blossoms, turn
the world to flutter
down

to the tops of trees
where a woodpecker
keeps time

out of sight
under the city,
rising.

tag: poetry, morning


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birds of a feather

A gaggle of gulls settles
on a grassy expanse
with six Canada Geese,
a dozen pigeons, more sparrows
than I can count at a glance, three
rodents that may or may not be
squirrels, and an old woman
with a bag of stale bread
an hour before sunrise,
when all cats are gray.

No one checks papers
in the light of day. We
are a flock, not flying.

tag: poetry, birds of a feather


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feichang dao

I’d like to have
a word with you,

Laozi, not half a universe
you got by with once.

tag: poetry, laozi, dao


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three motions of the eye

1

cat eyes

all bird,
turn. bird
flies

2

the short end of the spectrum

red canna
butterfly blue
sky

3

erhu

she strokes
two strings
they sing

her smile

tag: poetry, erhu, vision


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revolution now

Startled a rabbit on a walk this morning,
left him wondering how such a fragile
being could survive this bloody city

visible. We lay low,
agreed to disappear again
without a word between us.

Over coffee, sparrows twittered
a revolution. Their sudden
fabric woven on the fly

of fragile bodies all desire
surprised with a mass of hunger
no one of us could satisfy.

tag: poetry, revolution


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connecting flight, o'hare

An incandescent red jelly bean
rolls to a stop, still point at the center
of my turning world, a hundred thousand feet
passing, voices hovering. They
do not turn as one.

A hundred thousand filter down:
ten thousand paces, a thousand ways –
a hundred millipedes scour the path.
No brains center them, but they
move with intention and turn

on wills of shocking singularity –
blue blur of voices rolling
in waves over the firm steps
of hard high heels, over soft soles
sliding, over sensible shoes, over

fashion statements,
every one at its own pace,
blending to the speed of one whole
or another. A sprite on its mother’s back
floats over the scene.

Brightening blue to indigo flashes, there is
laughter red as the jelly bean still
untouched when, at last, I fly.

tag: poetry, o'hare


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