A story

The beginning

Hands clapping
the end of a show
crossed gazes
a star capped night
who looked first?
they’ll never know
they shared a cab
it just seemed right.

The middle

Toe tapping
on the sill
crossed ankles
a downward chin
a hunger inside them
food cannot fill
the doorbell rings
she lets him in.

The end

Coffee swirling
the silent game
burrowed feelings
a furrowed brow
nothing’s different
nothing’s the same
a sentence to start
but what? and how?

My Home, My Land

My home, my land
is lapping at the port…
Got myself a marinière
cut my hair real short

My home, my land
is underneath my feet…
Holds me while I’m dancing
Tap it for a beat

My home, my land
makes the flagpole sway…
flickering fires, invisible
fingers that like to play

My home, my land
rises with the hen…
That cocks-a-doodle-doodle-dee,
waking our children

My home, my land :
sea. earth. wind. sun…
Many different faces
Together they are one.

Luce di mattina

There’s a little hint of magic
In the morning light
And that little hint is calling out to you
So go out and greet it
Before it comes daylight
And give a nod to a magically hinted few