Looking through the bus window
while going to John J.

I see blue, morning snow,
Tinted yellow on wind swept rows;
Dry, brown grasses
Through the snow, pushing;
Leaf-bare trees
Into the sky poking;
All rising,
Like me and God’s Sun,
All the world brightening
The cold day to come.

Cy, 1986?

loneliness

Loneliness,
Through a basement window,
Is like the single shaft and head of grass waving
At me in the cold, November wind.
I look through that window too
As I feel the same wind
Catch my hair,
Chill my bones,
Freeze my brain,
Before the tears can flow.
My jaw is set,
And once again I move
To meet tomorrow,
Framed by my basement window.

Cy, Nov, 1982

Looking Up

The seagulls circle in the springtime sky,
Bright white on bright blue,
Like shooting stars in the midnight sky,
Bright white on dark blue,
Like God's love on hate's dark hues.


Cy, March 30, 2008

Like wet snow clinging,
White fungus clings
To black tree bark,
Taking life from death
Until it has
The tree consumed.
The tree, in death,
Bears foreign fruit,
Like a dead poet’s rhymes
Bearing foreign word fruit;
Nourishing new, consuming spirits
Of later generations:
Life for barren souls
Eager to consume.


Cy, Wed., Nov. 22, 2006