Double parked
in a no-comment zone
A writer sat quiet
unheard and alone
Idling vacant
the needle on E
Silence impended
no crossing of T’s
Given to vagrancy
nothing else left
Sounds in the distance
begone and bereft
A Muse but a figment
of something not heard
His vacuous instant
—devoid of the word
(Dreamsleep: January, 2023)
Mixed Ancient Metaphors
The words taste like music
from worlds long ago
Each letter resavored
in harmonies old
Coming to harvest
their sweetness imbues
A cave for an orchard
in wall painted hues
Old symbols retilling
those questions inside
Reborn when discovered
then never to hide
The silos refilling
new birthrights to seed
Replanted within us
—a symphony freed
(The New Room: January, 2023)