on an island of my own
staring straight into the sun
no fears are accounted for
with this nature i am one
St. Anthony Main was taken
on a summer’s dusk
through an old camera lens,
near the Mississippi and giant cotton woods,
people in dress—exposed flesh,
on bike, on foot,
on patios seeming elegant.
The redbrick streets
below told them
to stay out and go;
worn down, and by ice cracked,
each square watched,
unable to properly stress:
for winter would come to take it all away,
their warmth in breath,
hot sun, breezy outside comfort
and laisse faire sentiment—
what they had missed at that time
would turn cold-fast to regret.
O’ the summer is spent.
O’ take what we can get.
Milky veiled were silhouettes of downtown buildings from 280 at rush hour,
Wildfire smoke of Canada had pushed thru blanketing the humid heartland.
a million worlds balanced atop globules
of settled wake and rain, dancing on strung-up
green leathered water lilies in rolling waves.
These beaded reflections, moving,
were a million of you and a million of me;
crystals bouncing with electric light, cosmos lithe,
changing, above tadpole, water beetle, and autumn’s fallen leaves.
No question these microcosms stand in wait,
bobbing on a clear lake,
on each movement thrown within,
contemplating nothing—save for seen,
by those who pass in man-powered vessels,
just a moment in time, taking what they can.
Seagulls carried shadows
above their lives on a lake.
Here, undulating up and down,
and many worlds away.
Wood laid in a pile,
brought down in the days before;
years of life soon ash.
This Snowscape so quiet;
Not a bird,
Not a car,
Not a sound…
Whiteness covers the world,
Layering atop the frozen ground.
What play to our mirrors
Coming to for our peers
Gains a perfect little show
Moved to smiles and tears.
We cannot drop this act
Because of love- the fact:
That we are truly ourselves
Only inside of our house.