Sunday, August 29, 2010


I see the sound of his presence but cannot hear him. He is tapping away with a rhythm my impatience mimics. He is hidden behind the fingers of the evergreen trees as he bores into their limbs.

I hear the footsteps in my soul of one I cannot see. The steps are walking with a rhythm echoed by my heart. The presence hidden in the hands holding my heart drawing out all that should not be.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Steel Paths

Where are you going serpentine tracks? What awaits beyond your curve? Do the travelling trains trust your corridor caring not that they cannot see what lies ahead? Your solitary steeled arms, hidden by nature’s path, carry but one passenger at a time. Overgrown and worn, straight and unyielding to rights and lefts, yours is not a pathway for speed or diversions.

Your symmetry upon the earth beckons the gypsy in me. Your rhythm of steel against steel is hypnotic.  Visually you offer a path that is straight and true. But the night whistle of the train, unlike the Mourning Doves, is never answered. There is so much I’ve yet to see that lies outside your tracks. And unlike the furnaces that forged you, I’m just beginning to learn about truth and tend to weave a bit. You are most definitely enticing and your imagery teases a poet’s heart.  I can walk your path but I cannot walk your rails.