Another Yes

The debate is over.

Where are the roots of reality? What magic do they

draw upward into the sensible muchness

of feathers and pines and the scent of

autumn in your hair?

Nothing but what we see and say aloud,

make believe, “Let there be…”

With a thought and a word we created

a life together, you and I.

Another set you free to name yourself,

to be a self, not a wholly owned subsidiary.

I believed you would keep watch while

I dreamed, and you have. You do.

Every night ash buries the cities we build,

and every morning we sweep them clean again

with another yes.

This Penny

I would not spend this penny

to buy the world,

this penny that caused me to

bend over in the coffee shop entrance,

my foot braced against the

steamed glass door as

the full pool of morning voices

and the liquid chocolate scent

of wellness spilled past me into the street,

while I removed my glove and

freed my fingers to lift this penny

from a crack in the walk,

not thinking of money at all,

but of luck perched in the air

like tropical birds,

of the countless heaven seeds

I have hurried past that

would have sprouted in my hand,

like this tarnished penny

that caused me to drop

my bag and my hat and to

become the silly man blocking

the coffee shop entrance

while people I didn’t know

waited in the cold,

annoyed or amused, fated to wait,

and one of them… was you.

blue stone bards

frost comes,

and soon

garden basil quakes 

for perennial passage

to a far country

home

furlough in

circles of

blue stone bards

spinning stories

of rest and

return

empire down

he said no

she said why?

i tried what if?

but you—

you downed the empire

in one easy breath

arms merchants

fleeing cities

in search of

safe haven

and

honest

work

yes

no

could

be

all

one

Zombies Come in all Shapes

Zombies come in all shapes.

Some wear suits and ride elevators to glassy rooms in ridiculous buildings—and  a hundred dreams vanish into ledgers.

Some wear lab coats and safety glasses, shaking down blossoms and bosons for their lunch money and the arousal of power.

Others wear smug expressions and look you in the eye from the back cover of books that say there is poetry in the world—but your creation isn’t it.

It’s okay. Even spooky stories end, then it’s snack time and finger painting—

for everyone!

Until then we can stop being so serious all the time.