Cupboard Weather: 35 Weeks: Snap

the Sun rolling into Virgo
brings a snap


ice cubes separating in a glass of iced tea
on a hot day
the smell of roasting chile
thunderheads mirror the Sandia mountains
evenings still too warm for sweaters
and the calendar proclaims there are many week left in Summer
nevertheless

nevertheless

nevertheless

Autumn has begun

Haiga

each night the glass light
waits suspended in absence
electric sunrise

Permission

My eye is 
reminded 
to find
the sky.

Flirtation with 
what finds 
its way 
through 

steel 

holes sheared 

How startling, the sky.

You've given
me.

Cupboard Weather: Summer is Ending; Café Strangers

Beautiful girl
Rest your dark head in your palm
No one will ever love you
Search for your name
Or smile at you
As I do

Above the Cupboard

These wooden chairs rest 
empty on the landing above 

the door. As if the former

sentinels had been called

to study or refill their eyes 

with shaded light for here

the pose is easy tilt, off the ground

slatted backs and the land scape 

of four or more 

for dinner in the dimming

light, skies reflected where 

no one can find them for looking 

not up but in, to this endless rope of seek 

and hide. Children playing train indoors.

Alkali Flats

the Mojave flats shimmer
under a pale flat sky
pastel mountains float just out of reach
the occasional mesquite's thin bleached leaves wait for rain which won't come this year nor next
and our thirst for green will wait
unsatisfied while we pretend our air-conditioned cars will bring salvation
from perpetual sunshine and an empty Heaven

It's Busy

busy at the Buckhorn
we wait for our green chile cheeseburgers
and the trip up the mountain
this café is for Democrats
(Republicans eat at the Owl)
the clouds edged with silver don't
hold rain
but you never know when the wind
will push drops of water in torrents
down streets and arroyos
to disappear in the afternoon sun

Cupboard Weather: week 31: Thunderclap

I am unused to weather
changed from heat to thunder
before one (I) can prepare
of course, I never have an umbrella
that awkward but useful addition to the camera, backpack, iPad, hat
when I need one
I live in a gentler cupboard
where changes come without fanfare
and rarely
though the thrill of lightning cleans the air and loud clouds approach
Black Mesa with fanfares

Cupboard Leaking into Bucket

Last night it rained so hard the bucket could not hold,
Although you know it has a minor crack and I am 

reminded of the fable of the woman in the house 
who could not comprehend how hard she worked and how 

she never really got anywhere, not anywhere at all. 
Carting dumping carting dumping carting

all her worries, all her thoughts from one cupped
history fist to those of her daughters and sons. And 

the fish they caught? Not so many. Slippery the
cement. Though they trawled the edges of the pond.