the sun
leaves our memories

in front of our eyes
without impediment

the morning relaxes on
in the nests of time

the rocks by the sea
are shadows of prayer

hours astonished
to delay her by the tree.

As an outsider
in the garden

even the spider
seeks pardon

for the web
he wove

offering us
a treasure trove

of enjoyment
in his limited discernment.

Facades and arcades
from white buildings

in St. Dennis
after walking a short time

where a songbird sings
as Cynthia a flower girl

brings hyacinth
to the tennis match

as a young man
hears the sparrows whistle

among the underground
of shivering thistles

circling on court
and a poet in the corner

with his racket
in hand

huddles on the field
as clouds in the distance

offer us a rainy Sunday
altered his fragmented thoughts

effacing a memory of a fox
in the windy distance

with the childhood chance
of reciting disconnected prayers

Cynthia offers
a loving glance.

A child declines
to slip into his pajamas

sleep is not his favorite
time to dwell

the light above him
chimes from bells

his footsteps now
on the stairs.

With the sound
of wonder

in experience
from the underground

of expedience
we live each day

dying to make
our way in our perusal

and reach out to live
forgive and survive

in death's refusal
and to be a blessing.

PLUM ISLAND

The sea

is Monet blue

the sky

faces the rising sun

and I am one 

swaying shadows

of my memory

along the beach.

Knowing

that every
revelation

gives a new
self introspection

to my life's
inspection

in the void of my time
of day dreams.