"Things go where they can be"

Running downstream –
making sure I am always
stepping down hard on the
same river at least twice.

The water just races away,
forgets itself, able to change
churning rapids into sleepy
seas’ tidewater pools,

icy ponds, curling lazy eddies;
water seems to find the means
to go where it becomes the things
it knows it can be.

–My own circumstances distend;
extenuate; unmake my amends,
ride me down ’til I’m too
worn to still be myself.

Though might-could be I have it wrong
and have done for so long
I can’t see the good things
that might yet find me.

–Long before meaning took, a
bottled old man told me, “Sonny,
hard work ain’t enough, got to just let
things go where they can be.”

…Maybe a big sunset’s what we need,
a safe starfall that sets us free,
to ride into, just like they do
on the big screen.

So when the odd nighttime comes,
hides where we go, where we’re from,
I try to relent and just let things go
where they can be…

"He is well"

Feathers in his hair,

tobacco in his teeth,

a smile on his face;

he’s a strong breed.

Ancient Harvester pickup

– the International kind –

pedals could pierce the floor,

gotta pay them mind.

The flapping tarp in back

hides the what-it-is – it don’t 

make any waves with him 

or who he knows.

And the dog next to him,

panting out into the wind,

smells of bad-things-ate

and what-got-rolled-in.

He doesn’t often dance,

or dress up like a princess,

but there’s a tea party

soiree he can’t miss.

His little girl’s turning eight;

the lights and piñata he has

foretell a night any family’d 

cherish having –

he is well; he is good; he is well, it’s enough.

he is well, it is good – it’s enough.