Hush | Working Backwards | Unnoticed |


Goose pimples and cold concrete
through rubber soles
not even the dead can sleep in silence.
The Italian Catholics try to rest on the hillside
sheltered by twisted oaks and fallen leaves
ochre gilding on green earth,
cool and forgiving.

In 1935 the young trees looked out upon others
deer stepped tenderly on their buried roots
and the roar of tires on eight lanes of asphalt
was not anticipated by the men who built
practical arm-rails out of metal pipes.

Riposa in Pace soft hills
your beauty was not lost
on the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright whose
blue tiles and terraced spire
once rose above riparian winds,
soft, gentle

Working Backwards

The rock sits on the desktop
a link to his past.
His father a geologist left him this relic.
Nickel and iron,
dense it rests in his hands
its weight no burden.

So much of his inheritance remain a mystery
and his parents left few clues.
He wonders why it appears so beautiful.
Is it his father's genes through which he sees?
Or the source of their inspiration?

Solid rock once molten,
a visitor from some far away place
It too came from somewhere.
Some fallen star
that forced matter into mineral.

He passes his hand over the meteor
smooth and cool from the saws blade
only half remains.
A small piece breaks free
and falls to the floor
lost information for the next generation
To explore.




I guess I thought it would happen like an apocalyptic dream
Earth splitting, sky crashing
little Chicken Little screaming,
The sky is falling! The sky is falling!
But it happens more like
a pinky toe testing the water

And in it's comfort we hardly notice
the amount of displaced water rising
from just one lifetime
as we ease ourselves all the way in.

We float while they slip away
Go away, shoo!
I won't notice
just a little.
A little here
a little there
just a little, a little less
a little less
no one will notice.