beats down pond timpani on
water like a gong.
My husband and I
entwining near together
bud, leaf, and flower.
Dusk, an evening star...
firefly in the garden,
July moon rising.
Dawn's red cap early
over silver spoor tracking
dewprints of the moon.
Snow covered evening,
and thanks to grandmother’s quilt,
husband beside me.
Thirty-six stories up
green needles jump and strike sun.
Light bleeds fog blossoms
Dollars drowned silver,
dimes, and quarters' sum sewered,
greed with no sandbags.
Redwoods hide false ground,
crowns laced with rhododendrons,
cloud smoke, fog meadows.
Face it. There is no end,
but the end of the month.
Not enough bread around the sandwiches.
Wallet bacon flat. Too proud for welfare,
Instead we hold family conventions
penny tight around the dinner table,
Spread humor, and pursue a
smile’s interest on faith
With nothing but happiness
to risk on time payments
A View From Orbit
_____For Astronaut Sunita Williams who captured the images
Swirling veils of storm, the sapphire carved
from the black hole of space twinkles
like some never ending carnival
celebrated in a cemetery rife with epitaphs.
Nightfall cuts away along dawn’s edge,
gowning the blue planet in daylight.
Below, the green Nile stretches nimble as a papyrus
reeds dripping moisture into the morning.
There, the Mediterranean grips tight,
cupping just enough sea song for a sailor’s epic.
If each of us could wake to see
earth from orbit, belovéd globe ripe
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