listening to icicles (Colorado. November 2002.)

listening to icicles

they giggle softly




rods of burning cold

tensing their muscles

to break free of the shingles


they blind with the light

of a reflected winter sun

and mirror the calm

of soothing soft snow




slowly melting now

making waves of ice

beneath them

to be suspended from

the sky the snow

anything but the roof


.               .               .

floating among the snowflakes

little brothers of ice

the ground beneath

comes near

the icicles reach

trying to embrace


I want to feel (Colorado. Winter 2002.)

I want to feel

your arms

spinning me as we dance

until the sun rises

and we must

fall as autumn

rays sneak over mountain tops

and caress our faces

lulling us to lay down

in grass sweating dew


I want to feel

your chest

sleeping pressed


my back


me of your presence

with no sheets between us

as I tell the secrets

you knew when we met


I want to feel

your hand

cradling my head


in my hair

so that he cannot leave

until my strands relax


and let him go

Fall(ing) Breeze (Colorado. Fall 2002.)





This autumn wind is gold tinted

from the dust, remains

of a dry summer floating

in the air, pulled

into my nostrils, and settling

(for) on windows that have not been

opened in months.


Or maybe the wind is

doing his own interpretation

of the yellow wilting leaves

of trees happily surrendering

to sleep, well-earned, long awaited;

for these aspens have not slept in months.


But it cannot be –

the wind does not sleep and

he does not happily surrender.




The leaves are tossed

in a migrating gust

letting go to dance in a breeze

that could take them anywhere.

Let go, for even the ground is better

than someone else’s limbs.


How can these fair-haired leaves

dance freely if someone else

is spinning them?

Say goodbye to your tree.

The restless wind is calling you.




Creative Commons love to on flickr for the photo! Grazie!