head in hands

head in hands
it's late.
my feet are cold
ankle against ankle
hand in hand
the clock is ticking
minutes into hours
the Moon follows us in
our trajectory
as we follow Her

oh it's late

even the stars have closed their eyes
as mine drift downwards as well,
the Dazed and Confused cocktail started it,
then a glass or two of wine, more than a few
handfuls of caramel popcorn
(yes, now I am addicted),
work did this to me, this staring
wide-eyed at sleeping stars, the
rise of jealousy, the vow for revenge
I will sleep late tomorrow and show
him who's boss,
oh close my eyes, it is so late
let me rest.

before the snow

the wind is howling

another storm moving in

tonight

this morning i gathered some blossoms

before being crushed under heavy snow

it is always this way in spring

as we see-saw between winter and 

summer, mostly confused,

today, confused and saddened

by the blossoms crushed by 

gunfire, by hatred and violence

in Brussels. so much

delicacy and beauty too

precious to be destroyed.

tomorrow the flowers will droop

under their heavy load, 

our hearts also. 

missing ana

mondays used to be about ana
fountain pens out, fresh sheets of paper
a walk through a wooded preserve
coffee at a local shop where poetry books
whispered through the gaps in old wooden shelves
today is monday
the evening is long in the tooth
the streetlight has gone to bed
and ana is missing
where is ana?

I met someone here

i met someone here

some months ago, by the mere

fact we were passing by every morning

he stood on the step looking at the sky,

sometimes in a heavy jacket, a badge 

sewn on his pocket.

we hunched our shoulders and hoped

he wouldn't notice her off leash,

my pajama top hanging out from under

my jacket.

we became friends, this large black man,

me, petite, the dog

i am sad i do not see him here anymore

i have no bounce in my step

my dog still searches for fallen crumbs

she never had the attachment

Trump 'em all, Donald

i watched him pull up on this snowy day.

i wondered who would get out of the van.

an older white gentleman came around the back

after a long pause,

older may be my age, with a slight limp

and a camo cap.

the coffee shop was full of young guys with man buns,

yoga moms, and techies,

no doubt a bunch of Democrats,

perhaps a bit disillusioned but nonetheless.

he bought a coffee, black, and sat next to me.

he read the Colorado Daily while I finished 

my almond croissant, half off after noon.

I wanted to ask him but didn't.

Quitting

I never thought I'd hear that he
was quitting, walking away,
calling it off, turning off the alarm,
bringing his suits to the consignment shop.
they would not want his ties.
my heart sinks for him as it rises,
my own memories refresh to
the wiles of corporate America,
the stupidity, really.
may they sink into the mud without him,
they will, I know, but the flowers
in his garden will rejoice, Arabesque,
my favorite cafe, will serve more chai,
the trails will be tramped a bit more often.
and so, he quit and life will move on,
but my heart hurts a bit,
quitting is not the same as
leaving when it's time.