We all arrive at
one place having once
been at another life
is not a puddle
it’s a storm a
torrent a fury picking
up pieces of this
and pieces of that
and dropping them in
different places to be
discovered anew life is
about change about growth
that is unless you
are a puddle something
to be avoided to
be splashed in and
played with something temporary
something that was one
thing and now another


Often I feel like 
a windshield just here
minding my own business
zooming along without a
care in the world
when suddenly splat something
or other crashes in
some stick others bounce
off continuing on their
way without so much
as a thought or
acknowledgment or even apology
a few things hit
hard causing knicks dings
and cracks but most
get washed away by
a spritz and wipe
no worse for wear
But oh I long
to be just a
car window lazily passively
watching things go by
like a Monarch dressed
in combat regalia sitting
atop a steed watching
as his minions are
slaughtered wondering the whole
time what’s for lunch

Habanero (for Alex)

And like the pepper 
as we age we
do develop different colors
and hopefully our spiciness
never diminishes but maybe
it adopts a new
patina causing those who
know to appreciate it
Almost everything when fresh
is allegedly better sought
after then quickly consumed
but there are other
things that when aged
become even more treasured
especially by those who
are willing to wait


If the mountains were 
trees I’d know north
for from my little
birdhouse tucked quietly under
the arm of this
concrete monolith I can
see that moss has
crept up the sides
of the foot hills
Oh I know that
mountains aren’t trees and
the moss that I
see indeed are but
there’s something to be
said about the scale
of life for don’t
we all believe that
we’re giants living in
our own little worlds


Outside of my window 
the morning begins with
a growl gears and
motors and even monsters
moving to and fro
all on some mission
surely to conquer something
besides the serenity of
this dawn which they
already have and of
which they will soon
depart already aimed at
someone else’s peacefulness and
I will be left
like those emerging from
the root cellar or
bomb shelter wide eyed
knowing what used to
be is no more
and no longer more