City buildings, I take a cue from you and stand tall.
rusty farm equipment
old fire trucks
tiny bird skulls
rocks on the ground
pine cones in a tree
a funeral procession
rain on the river
tastes bitter, but I am reminded to be thankful
and mindful of this short, fortunate life.
I don’t see the weekend tourists,
the sticky fingered children,
the sun soaked fishermen casting off the docks.
Instead, I think about Magellan and wonder
what inspired him to keep navigating
in that giant, infinite circle.
steamy oatmeal with brown sugar
the sound of crunching leaves
warm blankets on the bed
coffee with pumpkin scones
crisp morning breezes
frost on the grass
Are you keeping me in, or keeping me out?
Baked cauldrons wait to be filled.
The echo of their emptiness
rings with hopeful meloncholy.