Opposable Opossum


Opposable Opossum

So it was YOU then,
dancing in the ethereal darkness
beyond midnight,
hauling your loot,
my nearly bad fruit,
between beams of starlight
and stolen dreams,
beyond the reaches
of my meager senses,
over roof tops
and under fences.
An aboriginal arboreal marsupial.
A possible opposable opossum.
My apache tlacuache,
an ánimo animal,
I see you now
strutting down my garden path
in broad daylight,
bold as brass,
as I water the vegetation
to renew myself.
You have returned to the scene
just to be seen.
A proud thief
with papaya juice still dripping
from your rubbery lips.
bald tailed and loathsome.
I can hear you
laughing softly from between
your bared razor sharp teeth,
I salute you,
as you wiggle your fat behind
into the tangle of the jungle
where even my civilized barking dog
refuses to follow.
You, creature of the night
from the other side of light.
You, who are now
slinking back into the emptiness
from which you came,
carrying our fears
and all the suffering in the world
we are unwilling to bear.



The Universe Whirs


The fan spins idly in the window.
A truck grinds along the nearby highway.
A drum beats somewhere in the pueblo.
The high pitched voice of a priest in recitation
wafts from somewhere beyond the trees.
A breeze stirs a response from the leaves.
Romeo barks at a bird or an iguana on the roof
and then quiets.
The universe whirs from the heart of my being
and the stars that surround us.
Time flows through the waft and weave of everything
like senseless chatter,
forgotten as soon as it is spoken,
unable to hold it’s place.


Four Haiku


Clouds blanket the mountains and the valley to the sea.                 When the sun shines again, will you be there?

In the moment there is no breeze.
Nothing to flutter the leaves of the trees.

Lifting my eyes from the illuminated window to the cyber-universe,
How delicious the sound of falling rain.

The sun has touched the surface of the sea.
There is no need for words now.


Spring Fires


The clouds in the east

are only a false promise of rain today,

but the jasmine has begun to bloom outside my door,

and above, the intense pale green

of emerging leaves graces the tree.

There is a hint of grass smoke

from the spring fires burning in the hills,

and an unseen wren is singing a sweet song,

“Where is love, where is love – surely not far away”,

waiting for the drought to end.



Small Storm


A small storm rages in the dead of night

Not tearing at the limbs of trees in the darkness

Not raging in the swirling sky above

But within these compound walls

Of stone and skin

In a windowless room

Unseen Un-named uncategorized

An unknown tumult

In a wordless dream

In an unbound stream

I wrap my spindly arms about these howling winds

And bow deep into the spiral eye to see

The quiet peace The invisible heart

In the loving protection of your outstretched fingers

In your open hand

Before the sun has risen.