If …

if you played the guitar, I’d listen
watch your fingers sort the notes
classic bass tones mutter,
they’re the ones I love the most

if painting was your passion
topography comes to mind
blues depicting life in detail
I’d sit pretty within the sky line

if the voyage across the seas
called you away; waking the beast inside
use your mind, I’d plea
wouldn’t be like you to hide

if photography was your passion
and you found me teary-eyed in wonder
nature hook’d a poetess of attraction
and to know her is to love her

With Change

when gathering
for granddad’s funeral
no one’s vehicle tires turned into the yard similarly.
even gravel sounded different as folks drove in and chose a place to park.
the earth where his brown Ford pickup had been parked for nearly 70 years
– until Uncle drove it away –
had grass growing again,
but had for nearly fifteen years, I suppose.
I wonder if I’m the only one
who noticed. I never asked.

Spirit of the Day

the concern within my eyes –
twilight assumes as its own,
my faith breathes.
gone is nearly today, as dust billows
life continues, work sets the pace
the echoes of yesterday
further behind, as tomorrow
eagery awaits.
Cicadas joyful within the trees,
remembering to honor those
before the sun sets,
pups howl against the breeze.
Light, use your glow,
dusk determines goodnight –
we’ll pause – alongside the tea kettle.
The future, only God knows, yet I whisper ideas as
the spirit of the day settles.