Some Goats

To the hapless generations

Along the no-shelter, refugee road;

Squirming on the sacrifice hook,

Pale-promise words mean

Less than half of zero.

They’re looking to find their

Own sharp answers – who can blame them? –

In the shallow sand beds,

The desert bred roundness of stones.

Long-shadowed strangers

Balanced on the horizon

Aren’t getting any closer:

Some goats know how to

Deal with wolves, but

Will they pass the secret on?


Summer Banjo

Generosity of candlelight

Reflected from grateful surfaces

Of fruit bowl planets;

Todays winds, that stilled the gentle

Tadpole breaths of unborn lambs,

Carried snow past hesitant windows

Will be gone, gone, gone:

Like the words of a song,

Like hard-to-count years in harness.

From somewhere in the

Long-possibility tomorrows

I almost hear the

Summer banjo players

Getting closer …

And I don’t need to

Check my tickets.