Too many broken things

Too many broken things

Don’t lose a drop of milk

No ripples in water

Like tousled yards of silk

Seeking new not repair

Another cornerstone 

Rugs like Rocky Mountains

Life in precipice zone

Too many canals dug

Too many canals dug

Duty and the bent head

Pages written bluster

Majority unread

Hourglasses are making

Sand art of our days whence

Gravity pulling grains

As displaced air assents

My prized possession is

My prized possession is

Rooted deep in my heart

It is the pi of love

Forever from the start

It thrives in light or shade

Everyday a new shoot

It arches high and low

Both net and parachute

Closer to privilege

Closer to privilege 

Having little support

Allowing and mixing

My own clay in the thwart

Growth in frontiers without

Fences or rails and posts

By dressing my own wounds 

And confronting all ghosts

The universe cycles

The universe cycles

From birth to death to birth

All is temporary 

Our sun and planet Earth

We funnel in and then

Funnel out again new

The black holes and red dots

Each a probable clue

In some random future

In some random future

An accidental turn

We may come face to face

The stagnant and the learn

Your opinions unchanged

You may say they’re unmatched

I have left the nest while

You’re eggs are still unhatched

Blustering winds are here

Blustering winds are here

Magnolias too soon

The late days of winter

The occasional June

Soldiers of Vietnam

Bouchard on my wrist cuff

We say never forget

Not enough is enough