Aging in the Nether Space

It's the nether space
of friends gone and
kids grown up
(some still angry)

when focus is hard
and body rejects it
like a foreign object
piercing my brain.

It's the nether space
in which sometimes
I prefer death over
increasing awareness

of loneliness and
inability to mow grass
or shovel snow.

A Glimpse Inside

Inner voice
muted by biography,
distorted by decades
of denying surrender,

lives in nanoseconds
of awareness, moments
of magic when life's
onion peels back

revealing pristine prison
with unlocked doors
and carpeted cells
equipped with
Jacuzzi and bidet.

The Color of Morning

Camera eye finds
hungry Cardinal with regal
crest and calm confidence
that demands focus.

He doesn't fly away
at every minor sound
like the wrens and other
small birds rather

he rules seed-saturated
snow without a trace of
humility, desperation or ego
investment until

belly full he flies inside
dormant bramble lending
crimson blush to a sleepy
grey winter morning.

Snow Redux

Snow again,
4 more inches
unpredicted by humans
yet anticipated by
backyard birds as

28 cluster and pluck
sunflower and regular
seed from virgin surface
now speckled with Blue Jays,
red Cardinals, brown Robins

and species I have not
yet identified but who
clearly know me.

Stood Up?

Perched on broken branch,
plump Robin patiently
pauses waiting for
her lunch date to
arrive.

That Time of Day

Mid-afternoon my
creativity sags,

perhaps muse prefers
siesta to sonnets.

Taking Turns

My body
shaking from illness,
surprised by frailty,
reluctant to surrender,
puts down illusion
next to pen and says
"it's your turn now."

So I breathe
and write
and watch
plump Cardinal
calm and majestic
chow down on seed
preparing for the snow
and other unknowns.

I want to be him next
incarnation.