psalm VII

layer of fog hovers

grazing tops of houses and barns

like a ghost drifting

haunting the countryside

I unconsciously duck as I drive underneath

slipping along the clear frozen prairie surface 

layers of snow lined up

chronicle winter months

a cross-section of time

in this time before the melt

I walk beside

gripping icy walkway in black boots 

layers of fog and snow fill brain

a ghostly winter of thought

hovering

                lining

yearning for

resurrection

late winter world

light white dusting

over everything

in this everlasting chill 

winter’s long bony fingers

wrapped around earth’s throat

not letting go even though

spring sun wants to rescue her  

I stare at sparkled snow

amid shadows of bare branches

air still now

no northern wind to

drift fingers across highway

making driving tricky

in this demented country  

sky         pale       blue

a late winter world

waiting

waiting

waiting

Rajaton at Grant Memorial

we walk in a fog until we hear the clarion voices

all in harmonic black beckoning becoming love

lapping at our hearts like warm ocean waves

welcoming buoying bringing us together in this

massive holy hall with theater chairs and lights

aimed at hundreds of shining young faces focused

intent on this moment this perfect raindrop of time

suspended anti-gravity like a perfect seventh chord

between two keys and tonight we will wend our way

home

heedless of the fog 

hand in hand

slow arpeggios emerge from speaker

a constant background waltz

to my thoughts 

of a giant orange moonrise on the eastern horizon

and a falling star

on a clear winter night

on the highway home

after watching the technical dance

of sets

and lights

and costumes

and make-up

and music

simulating a moonlit night

in 19^th century Russia

actor singing

do you love me

to his actor wife

accompanied by violin arpeggios

as I reach for your hand

and waltz in the shooting star of our moonlit lives

Puck

creature of the woods

and of our dreams  

hair akimbo

adorned with leaves and branches

a trickster

a sprite

a wanderer  

sneaking through the forest

tickling the black keys of our fantasies

to pentatonic wonder  

glowing the full

midnight moon

creating grotesque silhouettes 

calling with the voice

of a bristled bear

baring our fears  

falling in drops of warm rain

on our eyes

as we sleep  

wooing hearts

and minds in a

magic maze of love