Full Circle

they say life comes full circle

that we go round and round

like a dog chasing its tail

until we’ve caught our tail

then we don’t know what to do

at the surprise of having caught it

at the shock of knowing the chase

is over

and so we blink and hold onto it

trying to decide what to do next

should we start a new adventure

are we too old to start wearing ripped jeans

are we too young to mow the lawn in tube socks

should we just lie down until we have breath

to start the chase again?

The Photographer

“You don’t take a photograph,

you make it.” – Ansel Adams

a beautiful choreography

of contrasts, colors, light

skies of apricot and rose

as sun gives way to night

cherub dimples of a child

petals wet with summer rain

moon rising over silver lake

graffitied letters on a train

old farmer dressed in overalls

momma sheep just giving birth

pinecones asleep on beds of moss

brick red hues of Georgian earth

and though there’ll be a thousand skies

no two will ever look the same

this one moment snapped in time

will be organic in its frame

River Revival

the city is miles away

nothing but birdsong

and wind-swept pines

cloak this sacred place

pants rolled to my knees

i wade into the river,

its chill sending shivers

up my too-tense spine

i’ve come here to detox—

erase cubicles and clocks

immerse myself in light

and mountain air

waist deep in water now, 

i lift my hands in praise—

no pretense in this cathedral,

its stained glass an orb of sun