Mirrored


She was a contradiction in terms.
A lack of confidence gave her doubt

but she would pound you to dust
if she thought you were wrong,

needed you desperately
but didn’t need you at all.

Having no trust in love,
she loved fiercely.

Who was she who gripped my soul,
and gave her’s to me so freely?

Who was she who is reflected
in those she left behind?

Know us, and we’ll show you.

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Zen In The Driveway

dead-leaf-on-water

There is a little puddle
in the driveway
from yesterday’s rain
that now has
a fringe of white
lacy ice around it’s edges,
as if it is trying to close
itself off from the
frigid air above.
And leaves roll
across the ground
with an old paper
sound, blown by a wind
that feels like it came
from the North Pole.
One leaf carried by the
wind lands in the puddle
and floats. A crazy
boat on a calm sea, it
bumps the icy edges
and fine shavings of
ice fall to the water
where they melt
and become the puddle.
And the water reflects
the clear blue sky
where yesterday dark
clouds rolled and heaved
rain and snow showers
down on us as we ran
for the door and safety
and warmth. And grabbed
by the wind the door
banged against the house
before I could pull
it closed.
An edge of the leaf
dips below the water’s
surface and the leaf
fills and like a boat
with a hole it sinks
as the air warms and melts
the ring of ice and the
surface of the water
ripples with the wind.

Thoughts

girl with coffee
A casual glance, a comment,
a smile, a casual reply.
Thoughts, like tiny ants running.
She looks at him coolly
over the rim of her coffee cup.

He could be an Olympic athlete,
make pretty babies. What?
Where did that come from?

She’s attractive, he thinks.
He wonders what kind of music
she likes. Would she go to dinner?

The ants slow down.
He’s probably a jerk.
He’d ask me to a football game.

I wonder if she’d like
the museum?
That great new exhibit.

It’d be great if he was
a museum guy.
Probably not.
Probably a sports bar guy.

She’s probably not a
museum girl. Probably
likes noisy bars.

The bell over the door
rings. She looks up
to see him leaving.

He stops in the doorway,
turns and walks back
toward her table.
The ants run wild.