Holding above
a rag
or ladle
or heart
hoping for 
one last 
bit of
drip to 
quench desire
only despair 
and dust
float past 

If you 
wonder it
likely is
for thoughts 
rarely gather 
like snow 
into drifts 
but rather 
like rain 
that usually 
goes away 

Most people don’t 
want to think 
they would rather 
be told what 
to think for 
thinking requires reason 
and being told 
requires practically none 

My favorite toy
even now after 
all these years 
a snow globe 
watching the flakes 
swirl and dance 
so slowly dropping 
at characters feet
and this too
then why I
enjoy making coffee 
in French presses 
grounds you know 
are the stories 
of one’s life 
and like flakes 
fall making brew
and other concoctions 

I can count 
on the moon
and the sun
but the other 
heavenly bodies that 
appear and disappear 
no I cannot 
if caught perhaps 
if seen then
something as brief 
as a streak 
might bring meaning 
to my life