Sunday, February 23, 2014

Happiness



Happiness                                 

Morning after another night of working
     very late,
my eyes follow lines my mind’s too tired
     to take in;
from beyond the glass a sparrow’s cheep
     rings sharply,
cheep cheep cheep—a new sound, though who knows
     when it began.
Dust motes tumble in a haze
     of autumn sunlight.
Soon, in rooms nearby, the neighbours
     will be rising.


Saturday, February 8, 2014

Hand It to Yourself



Hand It to Yourself                                    

Even in the stiffest suit of armour
            you find a heart beating;
after every jolt in black clockwork
            you come home to living things.


Our Ararat



Our Ararat

What use a rainbow not in braille,
tidings other than the touch of feathers,
leaf’s cool caress, hard prod of bill,
to gazes penned and floated beyond prayer?