Saturday, March 4, 2017


The sun moves
toward the horizon
in rays of shadows
hovering over
the Cape's islands
as a sign of spring longing
from my windows
asking the March winds
to be still as leaves fall
as a new season begins
pushing into shrubs and bushes
in the suburban outskirts
as bulbs give away to crocus
and sparrows join in passing on
a chorus with other birds
who sing along over a bog
near the sands of the river
as a glowing circle
of released rays
will enlighten shadows
and a landscape painter
visiting from Canada
up at dawn
draws over the roofs above
my sound proof studio
of this underground poet
who remembers his childhood
eyeing a tiny shimmer
of grass on the rock garden
missing summer
listens to jazz on the A.M. radio
plays a riff over a tenor sax
writes words in his diary blog
as it starts his day to relax
by exercise
and pray for a pardon
from all the hurts of feeling
since the first ceiling of rainbow
was shown from the sky
to Noah was revealing.

No comments:

Post a Comment