I'm trying to be a window here.

These recent poems are my efforts to approximate being-to-being communication.

Garden of Futures

I’ve decided to plant a new future. 

I’ve decided to supply the sunlight and the rain and the magic, 
and just put a future right here in place of all the gloomy news.
For me, and for anyone who touches me, it will grow. 

Every day we will save back all the wishes 
that didn’t find an audience, for planting later. 
We will stuff scraps of sunlight in our pockets, 
and favor the new growth when it seems to struggle.

I’m going to punch a hole in the gloom and let the light through. 
The shadows will be welcome too. We need plenty of hiding places 
for budding architects of light who aren’t quite ready to shine through.

Wishes are seeds and you scatter them far and wide, 
even if the ground is hard, wherever sunlight meets your glance.

Abundance is the key. 

Space will never be a problem, because it will be new space. 
When you turn to look, it will be there. 
When you tune in to a different wavelength, 
startling new views present themselves. 

You are the point from which the view is made.

---

Down the Block

Across the universe and down the block
We’ll meet again.
I’ll whirl you in a wild hug
Then step back to make sure it’s you.

Of course it is.
I’d know that smile on any face.

And you seem sure
that I’m the me I was before.

You measure me 
by the depth of my thought,
not by the height of my frame.

Are you still working on the goal
of learning every plant by name?

---

What Color is Tuesday?

Once in a blue moon, the week begins on Tuesday. 
You must wait for the crack of dawn to see the mystery unveiled.

Stay awake until Tuesday unfolds like a fan, 
With bands of scarlet and flamingo
And a startling turquoise that goes on without end.

Friday night crackles into life in every shade of neon,
And no one remembers to switch it off
When Saturday’s due to begin.
Color is a twinkle in the mind’s eye.
Some people color the day most convincingly.

You can never have too much turquoise.

---

Still Waiting for the Bomb

I’m a child of the 1950s.
They told us to duck and cover,
shut our eyes against the flash,
but never said the drill was over.
They just forgot to say it.

The grownups went home laughing
at the fast one they had pulled on us,
gullible kids still huddled under our desks,
waiting for the next command.

Hey, Teach, is it recess yet?
Hey, anyone?

---

Bouncing with Bodies

We skip along under the sun,
bouncing from hope to hope,
Sweating all the salt
out of our bodies,

Till we no longer have bodies,
till the atoms themselves
are a fading memory
we have to reassemble
with gumdrops and toothpicks.

As long as your world has room
for never and forever,
you don’t need to miss anyone,
you can always turn the page
and turn it back,

You can take one deviled egg
and build a whole new picnic.