I am not a vandal
not a thief, I took nothing
that was not freely given
tip-toeing through the pages
creeping like a bandit
then back out
micropoetry
yes, it is true
the last seconds
of my life
my reflection
will be only of you
***
si, es cierto
los últimos segundos
de mi vida
mi reflexión
será sólo de ti
lost in thought
winding spaghetti around my fork
it falls off
you across the table
bathing in your wine
I begin again
winding
unwinding
forsooth
not all get a balcony
and pretty words
romance
is not scripted
but I have heard
fancy is responsible
for an upsurge in wishes
rough sunrise
my eyes are brown
yours are blue
that’s good too
this poem needs work
it’s true
I planted seeds
that never grew
I woke up blue
I spilled my coffee
smoke signals
from a passing car
smell like longing
and leftover Christmases
never used up
don’t worry
about the trash in your yard
it’s not
from my yard
it’s from all the thoughts
that heap up
in the middle of the storm
whirling
with a gig of their own
politicians lie
too often to be trusted
and so I will lie
under this red maple tree
where none lie not even birds
take the toast corners of life
and wipe up all the wet bits
the strobe light moments
that turn on the cells
and go down good with sunrise
your delicate memory
will be my ornament
(when you are cold
to me)
my blood’s
a soldier burning
