indie – inclusive – alta
Before I met my wife, I took a cruise
on a retired military ship and was dancing.
During a dance the ocean began to severely rock.
The dance floor began to move like a wave
sliding chairs and tables across the floor.
Eyes glazed with tears,
heart filled with pain,
I tried to look into the future,
yet only the past filled my gaze.
Mama hangs Father’s paisley pajamas
to dry on the sagging clothesline.
The basket next to her feet: bleached
boxers with permanent yellow stains,
Ghosts of lively past drift
amongst grey, empty
shell of stone building
planted in middle
of dry desert beneath
an intense sun
newcomer
to this town
in this space
i tread lightly
share
a delicate chaos
atomic strength
resilient
relentless
stretches but
a t r e e falls
torn from the root
wintered, wind-whipped
the scattered leaves, f a m i l y
our fates felled
and shackled
You are a mystic garden of wisdom
a cornucopia of knowledge
an earthly verdant paradise.
stand on point, too,
lie on their haunches
and sit in chakras
or in downward dogs.
Sixty dogs later
they sit collected
I am not so bad at taking a picture or two. I spend days trying to capture the rain with my iPhone.
I am a faux photographer. The true artists own cameras. The phone rings
