Poetry
Red Fox
His long lustrous fur
illuminated in morning sun
the solitary red fox runs
as if levitating through
beige and green grasses
that fill the still marsh.
I am thrilled by his beauty,
his speed, and that he is not
dead on the side of the road.
In moments he disappears
into a dense cluster of trees.
Had I turned for more coffee
there would have been no fox.
Partial Return
the masculine pronoun is used for consistency and is meant to include women soldiers

When Dylan asked 'When
will we ever learn', I thought
we would. I believed Kennedy
when he told me I could make
a difference. And I dreamt
Martin Luther King's dream.
Now instead of these hopes
we've been bullied into another
war for peace.
The dead are not even the worst–
these are at least final losses.
More cruel are the partials.
Partial life. Partial death.
Nightmare experiences that drill
deep into the core.
The tender young man, sober
before war, will never be again.
The killer who must learn to
trust himself with his newborn.
And the soldier's children,
certain they caused Daddy
to be this angry stranger.
Bright lives darkened
by the smoke and stink
of death and the horror
of what we do to each other.

 

Star Fluff
 In the spaces
where
dust gathers,
we find
offerings
of sacred debris -
star fluff
tossed off
in the soul's
shedding
of matter.

The Gods
insist I honor
these growing
dust mounds
never touching
a broom to them.

I am obedient.