what still calls

I witnessed this once with my family
suburban sightseers in Florida, snowbirds

a Seminole wrestling an alligator

if you can get them upside down, he told us
rub the white underbelly
they become groggy
defenseless

it’s not so easy, I imagine
making cheap money
and not a lot of it
on tricks your grandfather taught you
when you were a kid

wondering how the fullness in your heart
at hearing the sounds, smelling the sulfur
of the Everglades
could translate into anything substantial
beyond a youth spent
playing with a Caucasian Ken doll
shooting
shooting himself repeatedly
in the foot

gravitate

how a layer of slick
rises up after cars pass
tire grooves lifting rain from the road
how the mind gravitates toward
what it abhors

embrace your dead and doldrums
they believe in you
will fertilize evergreens
of solstice and childhood dreams
made real

winter comes

leaves fall from trees
burdened by our noise
it is not of their world

ours stands apart
does not participate
in the great unfolding

our parents, our elders
those let go before ripened
likewise, fall into the ground

we do not see
do not acknowledge
that winter comes

simple science

all you perceive
is in your eye
watch yourself
see everything else
what you do
others construe
lesser than
or stellar friend
while all you are
is conscious star

upper hand

inside is false warmth
the heat of humankind
the whir of refrigeration
the sounds of the marketplace

outside is human footprint as well
paved road, cars, parking lot
a string of low buildings
quaint shops
a black metal arch,
"Old River"

still, she has the upper hand
trees, leaves, flagellated by breeze
leaning or standing tall against
our Election Day
our inner struggle
unwarranted war

a small black bird alights on a wire
clouds move ominous, unstoppable
the sky, everywhere, watches

how do you know

light is pervasive
except, of course
in darkness

then how do you know
it is dark
what illumines
your awareness
that you are disappearing
into nothingness
and what awakens
on the other side
when having died
you open your eyes?

on retreat

green spaces
in this room
in my mind and blue heart
time like wine
ages, and ages us
similar to our ancestors
we are hunters of monstrous beasts
anger, dissatisfaction
we either conquer
or feed