Six Reasons to Spend
Saturday Afternoon with Poetry 

Where is the mood?
the other day I lost
relation to rooted stars,
heart not sewn to the close
distance of wide light
grown from shadows. 

          *
Another way out- hallow
a downward dark sky into
the tune of the yard, deep
enough to descend upon
later on night wings sprung
from therianthropic air. 

          *
Spoken joyful melancholy,
gray weather that hampers,
two feet that move along
untowards but as simple
as what’s been found,
melancholic joy of song. 

          *
A world showing clear
abandoned Ash leaf
remain beside gothic
point black street lamp
city crosshatch about
poised pedestals, of it all. 

          *
Il Penseroso indeed,
with thee, too, I behave
into cragged textures so
softened with hard haunts
of old and new, find fire
in the visage of my quarter. 

          *
This is where I can
return, turn, and not
move steadily forward,
time covers that soundly
with spaces hiden between
missteps of new colors.