The birds' cracked voices spring
from the white pimpled Dogwood trees,
that shake off winter's bygone youth
to uncover unsure crocus buds.
...
Mornings always end the same, in a car,
on the way to work, done.
Then comes the time clock, the rolling glances to fellow workers.
And as I start the engine lathe,
...
'O certe necessárium Adæ peccátum…
quæ talem ac tantum méruit habére Redemptórem! '
Mortal Adam with fruit filled stomach stands.
...
It was Autumn, and the clouds unfolded like a blanket
filling night under its cover,
and the white worn pages of my prayers, dimmed.
...
'...they returned by another road' (Mt.2: 12) .
We are a constellation of wills,
fire consuming,
...
belabors Satre
surmises life's not worth living;
then, returns home for coffee steaming.
...
I sifted through lingering memories
living like Lazarus wrapped in doodled notes in folders,
stiff in my desk drawer - slowly coming to light.
...
Bartholomew left the world
the way we all do:
in a red and white martyrdom;
faith that peels your flesh
...
The captain's wooden bedroom door
with horizontal slates peeking down
latches fast to the fiberglass
by a silver hook fished through a silver eye
...
The white moon sends a thousands winks
across the wind chopped sea
while slender tarpon shadows hunt
teams of minnows ‘round the hull.
...