They Are There

They are watching
They are waiting
Haven't you asked why aliens haven't stopped by yet?
Haven't you wondered if maybe they have?
Violence, slavery, war have been imagined
By us
The violent, the cruel, the murderers.
They do not come in peace
The lessons of the universe have already arrived
Evolve with love
Or die.
Compassion is allowing something to be as it is
To recognize it as evolving too.
They do not pick flowers to show love
Instead they say- I saw a meadow dotted with purple petals
Seeing it, felt like the happiness I feel
When I am with you.
They do not do the child's work for them
Instead they say- learn by doing and see
That, also
is love.

Childless Gran

good morning will whistle in Madill
from the rusted Live Bait sign
a creaking flag from a forgotten country
it will advertise
the lean of a woman
if you can, buy her okra
tomatoes onions honeydew
she will laugh you a recipe
like thank you
half-smile grin
stroke's souvenir from a sunless vacation
She's alone now, but for the wind-sighing sign
Still her eye-shine will sparkle with hope
for being here now
with love
for her dusty town
and her well-heeled garden
Hug her, if you can
the whiskers on her chin will tickle
and she will feel foal-knees weak-
a someday steed but for the breaking.
You'll know by her knuckles
how hard she's held on
If you can, buy her okra
tomatoes onions honeydew

hug her
and hold on, too.

Where Are We Now, The Hurry Has Gone

loose-knit body parts
scattered on the bed's battlefield
the shrapnel of our clothes
peering helter-skelter
over the edge


where are we now
the hurry has gone
two empty casings
floating just there
want surrendered to have
defeated by had

Moniker

perhaps our names
are just locations for our bodies-
in space and time


what does it mean when someone has our name?
what does it means when no one does?


if I could index my finger
into the folds of your directory
what would I find?
as an enthusiast of your moniker,
I know how hard it is to name a thing
to repeat the name of a thing
and not squirm
as I tongue softly the up curves
sigh the down caves
and not squirm
as I fold into the meaning
which,
when stared so often as our own
when gurgled as a broken record-
kite strings pulled for our attention
begin to lose all meaning


pealed from labels
we are just a feeling
of: once having been known
which,
when divided so deftly from ourselves
when sweetly echoed by memory's loss-
kite strings released by our indiscretion

begin to lose all meaning