Pilgrimage: Praying For Rain

in thoughtful stutters the rain
falls to earth
I loosen the oxalis
laying a bunch on the low brick wall
tomorrow if the day is dry
I will pull some more
gather and place it in the compost bin
later we will drive to say goodbye
to the friend who died

Pilgrimage:

the child stands awestruck
before the old man
the inside of the old car
spacious tall and dark
could hold a king and his crown
or a boy and his dreams

Chill

sidewalks wet from last
night's shower and the continuing mist
not warm enough to take my jacket off
but warm enough that the unexpected
cool coffee only disappointed
my day along a single ragged edge
like the gray cloud beside
the patch of blue

Pilgrimage: Music and Coffee

the café windows steamed
from so many espressos
John Prine sings about Paradise
and we talk softly about last night
and tomorrow

Hint at Weather. 40.

There was rain though
it only lasted a week.
And yesterday, a little snow.

What spills now is but a hint
of galaxies offset. All the red leaves 
fallen from the false cherry tree.

Pilgrimage: Early Morning Rain

at two in the morning the rain
insistent as birds claiming territory
woke me as washed clean air
slipped through the cracked window
the beat of splash and fall
quieted me until my heart slows
and my cheek sinks into the down pillow

Bananas

the voters
are made to stand in line
their birth their being
questioned answers lost
questioned again if you want to
vote in the State
of
Florida

Goblin (#39)

Thumbprints wash off.
One saint is still humming
in girlhood, in kitchens.
In the evening I would pray
washing up to the elbows.
If we were really good —
trout cooked in yellow cornmeal.
Thumbs gritty with last bites