The Sky Will Not Fall

Again, the robins
Tumble and skip like autumn.
The sky will not fall.

Gone Again

Trace the yellow-gold petals of a daffodil across your cheek
and you will know the truth of angel's wings
flying close to the earth
when all hope is gone
again.

The Glitter of New Coins

Robins tumble across the grass in this damp wind

like leaves tossed at will by a restless God.

Rain, though cunning, cannot melt their rusty hearts.


And the tiny alchemy of finches

turning from winter

is enough to quicken

my breath

and to see the grayest season

will change into the glitter

of new coins.

Draped Over the Arm of a Disappointed Angel

My feet are tired from this unyielding dance--
blistered and broken from the meaningless effort.
My mind is blurred from a swirling that does not bring joy--
this kind of amnesia is numbed from misuse of unimportant pink gauze.

To make things worse,
I caught a glimpse of unkind words
describing my profile
in the mirror.

I am stooped as all losses are,
always lacking the source of an arabesque,
and my soul is draped like a death cloth
over the arm of a disappointed angel.