Tomorrow this poem will
most assuredly no lnger be here,
though when during the night
it will slip away, never again
to be seen, I don’t know or perhaps it
will return in a form I would not recognize,
re-crafted by the hand of an unseen editor.

It may take on a meaning unfamiliar,
or translate itself into a tongue
that I can neither speak nor read,
or perhaps, most dreadedly, assume
the shape of prose, accreting words
until the embedded thought is bloated
and wholly unrecognizable.

Even if I tried to stop it, watched
carefully, it would no doubt
remind me that poems have a life
of their own once cast to paper
or pixels, and I am at best only
another editor or reader, and it
takes kindly on most days to neither.


Sitting on the shore,
I asked the sea
to tell me of life.

 The sea said the sky
            was a hungry suitor
            always trying to devour her.

 The sea said doves
            no longer lived
            atop the mountains.

 The sea said men
            embraced wars
            because they feared love.

 The sea said the moon
            could float indefinitely, but a man
            would drown of impatience.

 The sea said women
            seek out peace
            because they are peace.

The sea said stars
            sing lullabies that we
            are too old to hear.

 The sea said people
            prayed to their God
            and made God their scapegoat.

 The sea said life
            was a circle
            that man could not draw.

 The sea said that nothing
was permanent, there were
no answers,  that we both had
            the right to depart.