December 8, 2021

“To Sleep, Perchance to Dream”

The woods are rusted --
the final fiery specimens 
simply fading in place
rather than losing leaves. 

The sun's molten light
glows preternaturally 
between pickets
of blackened tree trunks 

as deer take the field,
leaping into dusk.
A milky sky promises 
no lively color tonight 

but our dusty earth longs
for the cold kiss of rain 
to set and seal its own
to rest and strengthening 

for the next season's 
eventual arrival -- and
the hard work of birth
and life and raising up -- 

The cycle from which
there is no relief, but 
the cycle of which must 
be our consolation -- 

Inappropriate Happiness

The bottle of prednisone 
warns that this may be an
unwanted side effect, which
I am old enough now to prefer-
What could be better on a
frigid, rain-soaked day 
when the forecast for snow 
has been blown and there will
be no break from our servitude?
I welcome unrepentant spells
of inappropriate happiness -
medication induced or not -
They just might save my day.