default lines

the day defaults
upon the dark trudge home
I turn my collar to the night
find no message on my phone
think of Robert Frost
as the last street light is passed
weigh good against indifferent
and find the case is lost

the day defaults
to nothing very clear
beyond a bowl of peanuts
and a glass or two of beer
but when I think back
put some distance to my sight
I find that in the darkness
came a different kind of light

[first posted 26 March 2015]

nocturne 

strands interwoven at twilight
amber at eve in a braid

we used to tell stories at bedtime
impossible stories we made

such a strange dance we were dancing
a dance we were taught by the sea

to whom do you wave on the shoreline
to whom do you wave if not me

high visibility jacket

just north of lonesome
by several degrees
more lost than someone
has a right to be
in boots so tight
they shredded my feet
I consulted the void
that you left me
and demanded an angel
at the very least
in a shining jacket
high visibility
to descend at midnight
oh glory be
and pull those damn boots
clear off of me

river

I pull back the curtains on the day
and find it has already gone

too late for yoga
meditation
qigong

I slip into the river
of the endless night
to find you no longer there

it is never too late
for prayer

On A Country Lane At Night

At night these lanes are difficult to walk.
Headlights loom up suddenly,
splitting your shadow into two forms
that dash against the hedgerows and separate,
like lovers after a quarrel,
both on a different track,
while one man walks back to his supper
and thinks on that.

Either before or after a fight,
on a country lane at night.

[first posted 3/11/2015]