A Selfish Thought

As I wake up to my Self,

I wonder why it proved so hard

to get here.

But when I look at where I've been,

I know it's only time

that's passing.

I have an unchangeable memory of myself.

The Relief of Trees

When I’m feeling down and mean,

people crawling on my nerves

like spiders hatching in my spleen,

I find some measure of relief

if I take the time to breathe,

lift my sour, bickering head

from the stooping ranks of the living dead,

and contemplate the trees.

Like sentinels of an adjacent world

they watch along the avenues,

or stand in groves in yards or parks,

splendid giants with mighty limbs

like the arms of Titans flexed on high

or dancing nymphs with willowy hips

frozen in a stretch or twist,

inviting my admiring eye

ever upward to their branches’ tips

etched against the boundless sky.

And on the outskirts of my perception

I sense the silence then, the palpitation,

the wordless breath that all things share,

binding us in common peaceful prayer;

and my friends, my relatives, the trees,

welcome me once more into their vivid sphere

where my troubles have no meaning.

September Waters

The late September waters

at our beach on the Chesapeake Bay

would be a lot more welcome

in sweltering July,

when the sea is like a warm tub

salted with jelly fish.

But as the Equinox fades toward Halloween,

plainly it's now last summer

when we frolicked in the water

hot morning after hot morning—

you, me, Athena and her stick,

racing her for it into the waves,

plucking it from her jaws,

throwing it out farther and farther,

fish jumping like stars in a Sea World show.

Now we wait 'til afternoon to play,

when the Sun's at the peak of the day.

The fish still jump for entertainment,

but we get the shakes if we stay in too long.

Soon we'll have to give it up,

make the sober change

from animal back to human,

watch the garden die

and the canopy of summer shed its skin

in the rains that drive us to shelter.

Put on shirts and shoes, find jobs

to get us through another goddamned winter.

If we can just make it to the holidays,

when at last the Sun turns 'round,

in the lengthening light we can stoke our hope 
with the vision of upcoming May,

when the waters will feel like September again,

but getting warmer, not colder,

with each passing day.