FARE WELL OR FAREWELL

The sun has slipped back
into its familiar failure mode
lighting the sky, seeming
to set the trees aflame, but
offering precious little warmth.
It is just practice for the season
we all know is lurking just beyond
the horizon, beyond our too short sight.
We hope not to be here to greet it,
having fled south, escaped to a place
where the sun maintains purpose,
where it says lakes and ponds ablaze
and we shield our eyes from
its intense, overpowering presence.

AT THE MARGINS

Horizons are the thing
we have they greatest trouble with.
They are omnipresent, immutable
and yet move at our approach.
They are at once inviting
and fear inducing, though now
we are largely convinced they
do not mark the edge of a precipice
over which we would catapult
into some endless abyss
crossing their margin.
As we age we are allowed nearer
and they see less foreboding
though we struggle to keep eyes open
knowing that too soon enough
we will close them finally
and step across into the abyss.

SEA-ING

He believes he would like the ocean,
imagines standing on the shore watching
as the waves wash up to his feet,
and as quickly retreat, smoothing the sand.
He has never seen the ocean, only
ponds and on large lake, but he
imagines the ocean is just
a giant lake with bigger waves.
He would like to see the fog
roll in erasing the horizon,
shrouding the seas in a deeper mystery.
He recalls standing in the bar
of the Grand Hyatt in Tokyo
late one night as the fog settled
over the city, and only the lights
of the tallest buildings
seemed afloat on endless sea.