Invisible Ribbon

She came out of the air, a rosebud trampled into the dust of the sky

the bird flew like it walked along an invisible ribbon

Pigeons used to be doves, long ago

I see them sitting on the roof of the steeple

sunning themselves

when they land

Spring is Time for Movement

The red rouge on her cheeks

was christened like the Spring

running wild this toddler

so fresh faced

her tiny legs like twigs

moving madly she

was giddy to be running

in front of Daddy

she ran toward me like a dream

unafraid

of anything in front of her

just going as fast as she could

as she approached I saw

her jet black hair laying on her head

as smooth as her face

pure innocence

not even kindness could touch her

because she did not know even

what it was to not be kind

this was time to play in the mud

Spring is here

it is time to run!

I think of my own life

compared

in my thick grey jacket

trudging in old blue jeans

my only motivation is coffee

and here is this child

shining like the sun.

The clock has ticked and tocked

on my face

small wrinkles might appear

where smiles have been

where angry faces were drawn in silence

where tears were wept

where fists were pumped

where exasperated sighs once filled my lungs

now there is silence

and the sound of birds singing.

Leaves are glistening

gleaming in the bright white sunlight

blink twice you need to.

It is time for movement.

The Difference

What would be the difference, if I took a one foot by one foot square and roped it off

and filled it with flowers brim to brim

or if I filled it with fire and then ashes

and we danced shin to shin?

The opposite of marriage is not divorce

it's space

and I could take my mouth and fill it with stars

and never say another word again.

Coltrane Has Superpowers

Coltrane has super=powers

of this I am acutely aware

the bare face of God has returned

and my idiotic rampage of notes

has turned sour on the cacophony of greatness

My attempts to secede from the Union

have been met with Lincoln's hat

overturned and asking for change

on a Sunday my tithes are no good here

I will have to put leaves on the water

of the small rushing brook

and think of Walt Whitman