day 1

Fresh Air
This air is exactly the same
as last month and last year.
No new breath or breeze;
just ice covering trees
and small hearts.

day twenty-four

Bookstore Love
True Love is
an old man
helping an old woman
out of her chair
and into her jacket
and proudly holding her hand
as they walk towards the door.

day twenty-three

Life of a Raindrop [for ak]
born under pressure and
chemical concentration, a
painful (but glorious) beginning.
unique, just like the other billions
birthed from one (single) cloud.
traveling, destination unsure,
but direction predestined by gravity
(which way to the Space Needle, sir?)
a lifetime, millennium of purpose
is found in the single (one), solitary,
unnoticed beat on a big, red umbrella.

day twenty-two

Fall Break Starts Tomorrow
I move to paper,
for essay and poetry.
Updates on Tuesday.

day twenty-one

Wednesday Haiku
Shoes squeak down the hall,
glasses fog, worms flood sidewalks.
It's raining outside.

day twenty

Irvington Haiku
Waltz through tree-lined streets,
promised smiles, conversation.
To Starbucks - two blocks.

day nineteen

Philosophy
Poetic words are not simply put,
chosen because they fit the page.
They are carefully carved
from the sands of history and sound,
etched in some egyptian parchment,
or laid out like a vast mosaic
stretching across a museum floor.
There is no glory only in swiftness,
or a careless line scrawled on lined paper,
there is beauty found in rhythm
though it takes one hundred years
to form the meter and rhyme.
Even without boundaries of form,
the lyrics must move and convey
a sense of time, a response of heart,
though unknown and uncategorized
and undefinable, a humanity.

day eighteen

Popcorn
wait two and a half
for the hot, handy snack
perfect for throwing
at unruly friends or
catching in your mouth,
leisurely picking up one piece
for each page read or
grabbing whole handfuls
of buttery goodness.
the indians could not have given
the pilgrims a better gift.

day seventeen

To Live
I sigh and grow older,
not in the fearful or pitiful
or sad way of someone
who never thought to leave
home until it was too late,
but in the satisfied, passionate manner
of someone who has truly lived,
worked hard at something,
breathed in deeply the sea air,
felt the sand between their toes
even days after returning to the city,
admired the design of a rose,
kissed their children goodnight,
fell asleep to the sound of your voice,
and loved their Savior and neighbor
from a place of calm within the storm.

day sixteen

Luminary
Walking through a forest
of lights in paper bags
lining the path toward home,
I felt the silence and peace
cast by the symbols of joy,
reflections of the full moon.
I wanted to dance, to walk
always with the lights
on either side of my feet.
And then the disillusionment
of the return journey,
where the feet after me
caused destruction, not light,
darkness, not the hope
of a steady tread through
the luminous line of trees,
snuffing out every candle
with a swift kick and a sudden stomp.