A little light
for the new year
I had
a delicious dream
of my kids
as young children
I can feel
their small arms
around me
this morning
Sacred money
sacred market
sacred gain
sacred profit
sacred wealth
sacred power
We the People
The mudsills
the workers
the proles
the tools
required
for balancing
The sacred scales
One
vs.
Ninety-nine
We are facing
aggressive
unrelenting
expanding
broad community spread
across the country
reaching most counties
without improvement
but rather
further deterioration
*report from the White House Coronavirus Task Force, November 2020
Heavy
hanging low
contents pressed
weight against flesh
thundering like acid
my belly full of rain
I was in a Zoom
about the pandemic
how things are changing
and require being open
to new possibilities
In all seriousness
I thought WHOA I could try
making chocolate chip bars
instead of dropping them
by spoonful
my teeth crumble
into napkins
stashed
from peering pretty people
I greet
on waking
with a pursed smile
and a mouthful
of surreptitious verse
Something
about seeking a source
in the deep end
of a flailing life
means I’m not sure what
but if I could find it
I’d tie a rope
around its energy
and save myself
from drowning
in wishes
instead of swimming
in the Poet’s possibility
Dreamed I lost you
& sneaked a peek at you
like when you were little
& me spooked in high winds
Now my spooking
is crowds engulfing you
fueled by cruel winds
& you out of your element
which maybe is earth
& I hope will keep you
grounded
Why should I describe
my feelings for the backyard maple
and the moon I spy
through branches like a lace curtain
as it rests upon mighty Mount Tom
that from here I must conjure
from memory and imagination
as the neighbor’s house blocks my view
I mean the maple is not really so old
as trees go
kind of middle-aged I think
or maybe assume stemming from my desire
for companionship
I don’t really know
having only lived here 13 years
which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere
but not so long if counting
against the life of a solid maple
and the moon is the moon
to which poets greater than myself
have written many a rapt epistolary
so there hardly seems any value
in my tepid musings on moonlight
and what it reveals
Neighbor
outside the 7-11
is minding a stroller
mask bunched below her chin
cigarette dangling from pursed lips