Was It the Best She Would Do? (Day 2,600: Take 2)

A stanza added
to three quiet ones—
it could become a record
of the commotion caused
by one silent train
rolling in, another one
about to depart.

Ode to Silence








Church Bells of an Agnostic

Church Bells of an Atheist Agnostic

There’s a soaring chime
that can’t be recorded. A murder
of them takes over
the northern sky
as another day crumbles
into itself. Come again 

night. More than six
of them, six beats
to a measure. A rest
is noted but not taken
till each bird has evaporated
into another winter roost.

Rotate 180 Degrees

Silver Lake on the way
to work. Is the Actor Happy
on the way home.
A black charm knocks 

the train off its rails
onto a parallel ride
through some serious winter air.
En route, I 

lose all ability to distinguish
between those two masks.


Deceptively simple, deceptively
broken, some collision
of Southern Gothic
with Stevie Smith’s “not waving 

but drowning”—I know so little. 

All I can do is keep
listening to the music.  That’s what’s left
to do.

Black and White Sky Over Loring Park

A winter’s civil twilight breaks
open a black bird swarm.
That caw commotion over church bells
reveals how little she knows.