maritime fog envelopes stuff
full O slow train, O head lamps
O workers decked out
in reflective orange and hard hat
safety trained, bobbing breath
O, Oceanus breathes wet
slips away to blue, to gulls, O bellow
horns, drywallers crack jokes
below, the concrete men
screwing around between task
and the wrapping up, resorting
to resolve, spending time
through yule and aching hands
the open present
O children, behold!
_______________
Friday writings 207: in between
pools of light puddle, collect
on banks, on bars, the business district
in grounded constellation, to gaze down
for lode star, to see signs never fixed
always fixing, aquarius laying
out words for us on soft knit
we nest, backlit
who sees us settle
behind paned storm glass, a veil
threats to tear, or so we seam
through roots, tapping
a jaunty compost tune
it’s delightful to hear
such industry at work
the soil echoing
their anthology
of scrap, peddling
under the bedding
chanting grounds
shells, skins, shavings
these are salad days
feasting on once
energetic flesh
serving to sing
and teach muscle
and shovel, a song
to make it
abundantly clear
that no body
goes unsung
_______________________
Open Link Night 397: Abundance
