January 25, 2015

Distant Dogs


In the dark
I hear distant dogs
barking, breaking
the nighttime silence,
reaching me
as I stare
into the face
of nothing,
their bark
now more faint
but always there.

It carries over the land,
across empty roads
through thin air,
making me wish
I were with them,
feeling savage life
running through
my veins, cold steel 
chains holding me
back, if only
I could be there.

January 22, 2015

Mission


When I go out for the mail,
my new neighbor approaches,
fresh from church,
grasping his Bible tightly,
asking if I know the Lord.

"Not so far as I can tell," I say, 
my mail all bills and come ons,
everyone still wanting money.
"You need to get right with Jesus," 
he says, extending the Bible
with its gold leaf for me to touch,
"before it's too late."

"I'll be sure to look into it,"
I tell him, as I sidestep
my way back to darkness,
my door opened, then
quickly closed against the sun
of judgment, shining down,
on this purest of Sunday mornings.

January 19, 2015

Presence


Your presence
follows me
in my sleep,
my dreams.
In my spare
time, I sense
you're still there,
watching, waiting,
for the moment
when you might speak,
letting me know
you're no mistake,
that from afar
you're so real,
and I've been right
all along,
to tell others
who you are.

January 16, 2015

Rumors


During the drought
we don't wash cars,
tasting the dust
in our mouths,
on our skin.
In the fall,
snowbirds arrive,
thinking our water
belongs to them.

We'll stay inside
for another season,
breathing cool air,
sipping drinks
in the afternoon.
We'll repeat rumors
we've heard about rain, 
waiting for dark clouds
to gather, again.

January 13, 2015

Others


I slip into
a dreamless sleep,
my heart goes
suddenly still.
Everyone's 
been waiting for me,
I've so much
time to fill.
Someone's paid
my fare in full,
crossing over
to the other side,
where I'll get
used to waiting
for others
to arrive.

January 10, 2015

Solstice


I hear the heat
kick in
while I'm still in bed,
on this shortest day
of the year.
I'll need another chore
to see me through,
like chopping wood,
building a fire,
setting the table
for two.
I remember 
your advice
about pulling on 
another sweater.
It will feel
just like summer,
you said,
though I knew
all along,
it was really winter,
instead.