Wednesday, February 22, 2012

I went out with my lost friend Zigman Zibanski. He had been drinking and soon fell down drunk in a field of cold autumn grass. The night sky had also been drinking and fell upon him. The best I could, I freed my friend's back of stars and asteroids and cosmic dust. Bruised but merry Zigman got up, and grabbed the rocky edge of a laughing comet. They staggered together along a worn path and celebrated their good fortune as if they were old friends. My arms tired and hurting, I picked up what was left of the scattered sky and put all of its broken pieces back into place, certain the world would never know the difference...of what happens to lonely old drunks and those fallen comets.

Monday, February 13, 2012

I saw a woman in tattered clothes.
She wore a necklace made of gold.
I asked her where she got what glittered round her neck.
She said: "I stole it from a rich lady. Then she stole it back. So I stole it from her once more."
We didn't speak against an empty pause.
Then she said: "Life is golden."
Together we laughed with joy filling our poor and tattered souls.

Monday, February 6, 2012

I stood afraid in a tall field of grass, I could barely see
I sat down. The grass was higher still, as if its blades touched a sky
Never inside myself did I feel so low
But I had become content as my eyes touched soft white clouds
Thankful there was a guiding sun that kept me warm,
I rose and walked freely in a tall field of grass