The Thief

My mother sneaks outside at night to steal the neighbors’ flowers.

The only time that no one sees her is those middle hours.

Though it seems cruel to watch arrangements fade in hourglasses,

She claims she’s merely set them free from the suburban masses.

.

.

.

Visit Switzerland

Ambling in limbo

illiterate and alien

wary of pregnant pauses —

she drags her shadow

heavy as luggage 

over miles of gravel

leans over ledges 

to air dirty laundry

as insides tumble 

down spiral staircases

shiny white air

burns paper lungs

but there is relief

in the river

cleaving the city:

green glass

 clear to the bottom

and slim swimmers

  slice straight paths 

      alongside swans.

.

.

.

Astronomy Lesson

The Perseids are simply flying debris, said the scholar. Nothing more than cosmic refuse. But then he’s never seen those streaks of blue burn above the charged green trees like a lonely wife’s stinging tears  — all electricity and vengeful astronomy, static suburban nerves and fireball fury so high in the childless night that the neighbors don’t even have to strain to watch the show unfold over the fence, to see the stars fall right out of the sky.

.

.

.

image: Perseid meteor shower of September 6 and 7, 1880-1881, Popular Science Monthly, Volume 18, author unknown {{PD US expired}}

Seagulls

Landlocked, but there’s still seagulls

floating on the cold morning wind

and crowding thin black puddles

in the Shopper’s World parking lot

that sits empty most days.

 

A police car drives by once, twice.

 

He’s watching me watching the seagulls,

trying to determine what the trouble is,

if any.

.

.

.