City folk

Someone said,
the full moon looks larger in the city
because of skyscrapers-
which said nothing
about people feeling smaller,
more condensed when clustered.

Tall shadows do distort our perception of time,
such as dusk does bend warm light
in the redwood grove.

Somehow,
the moon still washes over and spills into all
narrow alleys and dives deep into dark
watering holes
with its aloof blue glow,
at some points
her own dead valleys visible
from under the canopy of cemented jungles
patching the land up.
The beacon looms over
with tiny towers babbling in slang.

Concrete was not so.

We stand closest together is
where we feel the smallest.

Somehow it seems

we will never be safe from these lights. 




Painting by August Splitgerber (1844–1918) (http://www.neumeister.com/) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

We Sea Trees

Caressing her steam from the trunk

Hugging her clouds from her crown

The heart blood is trapped in sap

Awash in the beams, lasers of light
through veins of amber rings

Slice the pillared shadows

Spraying musk that bursts
bark rust forth,
settling for dew
likewise, hanging on
to every loose end.

She breathes you in

as you pass

A sapling too slight

to care whose airs

of mutual aqueous

evanescence is about them

re-membered reaching
and thirsting for the light
to rein down atop our crowns.

Photo of Redwoods By NPS Photo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.