Small Things


There is no better thing,
I guess, than to believe
that my good thoughts take wing
without a by-your-leave
and find their way to where
they are needed the most;
that way, I do not care
if they remember their host.


There under the carport
in the sweltering heat
of summer, it made sport
among the sticky sweet
passion flower petals,
its dusky wings beating
against the fence metal
in a brief and fleeting
hope for immortality.
Top that reality.


The box is there, outside —
if you look, the edges
may be visibly spied
and looked past, like hedges.
Don’t try to muscle past
taking them for granted;
for they will hold you fast
’til the day you’re planted.


I walked outside last night
while moon glow splashed the street
and the reflected bright
warmed my still earthbound feet.


Some faith is a madness
not often criticized;
Without questioning doubt,
it is too polarized.

14 AUG 2003

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