April 17, 2015

Requiem


In the wind chimes
outside my door,
I hear your voice,
unlike before.
You keep asking
where I am.
I'm not sure
I can explain it
all again.
They sound
more and more
like you,
sometimes silent,
sometimes blue.
They're calming,
like everything
happens
as it should,
giving me peace,
just like I always
knew they would.

April 14, 2015

Something Else


The sun sets ahead
of the rising moon,
flash flood warnings
sound on my phone.
Another prediction
of too much rain,
I've heard them all,
time and again.
We're supposed to go
to higher ground,
feel a sense
of impending doom,
but I've learned by now
something else
is coming,
it's approaching fast,
and will be here
soon.

April 10, 2015

In The Wind


From far off
at night,
I hear a faint voice
in the wind,
first soft,
then louder, again.
Like the wind itself,
it's a pleading sound,
right on the edge
of a vast unknown,
looking for rest
but finding none.
I wonder if anyone
ever hears me,
when I talk back
to eternity,
asking for something
I must have lost,
in the wind
blowing through
my mind.

April 7, 2015

Freight


Late at night,
sound carries far
across the desert floor.
I hear the freeway
over a mile away,
and just beyond,
the midnight train,
moving slowly,
loaded down
and heading east,
toward the town
where I was born.
Forever traveling
back in time,
it will always
carry me,
looking for someone
I used to be.

April 3, 2015

Distant Thunder


Far off,
I hear thunder,
without wind,
without rain.
It's quiet now
In our bed,
you're still
somewhere
in a dream.
The same old pain
we've felt before,
is falling
on someone else
tonight.
I'll just wait,
for distant thunder
to lull me
into sleep,
again.

March 31, 2015

Sirens


In our group,
there's safety
in numbers,
though neighbors
seem to succumb
at a higher
rate than usual.
Sirens sound
in the night,
hauling them off
before dawn,
returning some home
just before noon,
some others
not so soon.
We've learned when
we can intrude
to offer help,
or stay away.
We'll keep watch,
listening from our bed,
or hearing
from our table,
sirens coming,
then some going,
noting the rise and fall
of our own breath,
as long as we
are able.