Dance Macaw

Their vibrant plumes

have tales to tell

They swim the air,

and communicate

socially with all

Flock, a grouping

of peers, so aptly

coined a word

With wings

oft spanning feet

in length

Mating for life

and sharing deep

Offering up to

sixty years of love to keep

And friendship

to any and all

that choose to

hear their call

Alas

their adaptability

to life as a pet,

is a reason

for their

being taken away

The danse macabre

wouldn’t flap it’s wings

so mightily,

if only these

living sculptures

wouldn’t so easily

capture the heart

of man

An Encounter with Time

Time appeared to me

And when she spoke

She softly said,

                  “Take hold my hands and watch them glide,

                  And let the waves heal your seconds with each weep”

         Analog

         Communication

         Digitalis

         Cries

For the fox whispers into gloves on this night

         Animating glands within

         Pressure plated strands of yin

         Faded from the

         Withered waltz

         Since destiny passed last march

And so the fox tilts back its ruffled neck, as it sits atop its rigid parapet

         Amassing all anthologies

         Created amongst the masks of stone

         Crawls creation back into its often weathered home

         Made of clay and soil thus

         Sifting birth through plated palm

Back into the hole protracted

By the hands of man in trust

The fox’s song ignites the air, forgetting the form in which it breathes, yet the sound produced is pleasant still, mournful, yet proclaimed with such a joyous ease, so smooth, yet sung with a jaded crush, to that it lost and loved as much.

Time appeared to me

And when she spoke

She softly said,

                           “Return to me.”