and the sky was mottled grey

clouds crossed the morning sky
running to hurry past the horizon before your mother
realized you were gone.

the squirrels did not wander out to gather
they stayed away tucked inside their tree
chittered nervously and paced.

i thought i heard you whoosh past
footsteps that grew at once very loud and
then faded into nowhere else.

who ever knew you were leaving who
would have thought that you would one day be
never coming home again.

semantics

something like a murmur of voices
that is what it should be called
i think
when you hear a certain something
a murder of crows a
pod of whales a gaggle
of geese
why not a murmur of voices when you
hear the sound of a cocktail party in full
swing or capture the noise of a church's
congregation after the service is over and
before everyone leaves for lunch
why not fold your hands, turn your fingers in
here is the church and here is the steeple
open the doors and hear a murmur of
voices
circling around outside the murmur is the ever
watchful eye of form and the "let me put
a damper on things" hawkeye of function
but for now
just bellow, for now just throw your head
back and laugh, a guffaw, a cloudburst of
sound, a salient feature in the murmuring
crowd of others, oblivious that we listen
for the sound of a beloved and we never
stop to wonder how one voice
rises up out of the midst and says
hello

how things change

sand in the snow
do you remember the first time?
was it so long ago after all
say it was that same street
where chestnuts fell and
streetlights swung perilously
summer night late and you
in your creaking bed
peeled back curtains to see
night calling, hush of noise
summer quaking autumn near
and one day in winter
miles away and years later
sand from the atlantic coast
mixing in with snow

the dream

inside out of myself
panic stricken and
worse
where was my littlest one?
what mother leaves her child
alone in a hospital for some procedure
and never checks back
until two days go by and
no word
no answer from the switchboard
no way to find out
guilt
fear
terror
betrayal and abandonment by
me this time
by me
zipping fast atop waves
trying to get to an airport
the airport was months away
the woman said
and she called me laura
what mother leaves her
littlest one to strangers
and goes away for fun
nagging loss will not
let me go

Old Black Magic

This big ol' bed of mine ain't half bad.  I got it
ready for your coming.  Sheets is fresh and
pillows fluffed.  Come a little closer,
won't you, darling.  Anchors up and
moon is high, foreign lands are waiting.
Push us off, let shore fade fast, we is
goin' sailing. 

Sunday Evening Looking at Houses

Sunday sermon on

    a crooked sidewalk

A homily of grace

    for each other.

The night a misty friend

    enclosing us in,

Its quiet street lights

    and lush green lawns,

Your footsteps chasing

    and echoing mine,

My footsteps Morse-coding

    back to yours.

I do not know

    what they said.

Some veil of beginning where

    expectations had once

Insisted on change but

wisdom acquiesced in peace.

A blessing to see

    you and feel

Your gentle hand

    touch my back

While we walked

    and talked and

Pretended to have answers for

    the mystery of

It all.