Once More


Though the storm abated
when the morning sky expelled charcoal clouds
whose light sabers summoned guttural roars
that shook my sleeping soul,

I remain cautious with dread
as I collect branches broken before their time
and leaves scattered across the path
leading to my garden pelted by hail.

My senses await the portent
of yet more of heaven’s random wrath
while my bones prepare to rattle
at the mere hint of barometric shift.

Then you bring me coffee
and bid me to pause
for just a moment,
so you can read to me
today’s forecast of clear skies,
light breezes and
perhaps gentle rain.

And you assure me that
the modest wren shall sing once more.

Butterfly Shadows

You appeared on a crisp spring morning
when honey bees descended on arugula flowers
that twinkled sunburst in the breeze

A little caterpillar whose gentle soul
was clothed in orange silk
fastened by thin black stripes

I asked you, “Child, where is your mother?”
but you blithely continued to nibble
on my tender lettuce and chard seedlings

I allowed your piracy of daily sustenance
anticipating the day you would grace my garden
with your whisper touch and weightless flutters

I guarded your motionless chrysalis
that belied metamorphosis about to unfold
your wings to fly where your spirit beckons

Though I have not seen you since your inaugural flight
I sometimes imagine you hovering near me
casting shadows of times that could have been

For Ben (April 30, 1960 to September 5, 2015)