Light travels straight.
It doesn’t hesitate
To pierce the field
Of vision; there is
No indecision. There is
Only the reconfigured field
In an eye that doesn’t hesitate,
In an eye that sees straight.


Another year . . .

another bleak year. Or

maybe it’s just the week

and the need to retreat

into the warm safety

of the comforter

and hibernate like ground squirrels

till winter is over.

When the snow will yield to rain

and the rain will bow

to the dry summer storms

                           and drought.


Gods are always found

On mountains far away

From humanity and their ills.

Aloof they lie on hills.

High above the cacophony

They’re crowned

Giver, Savior, Prometheus bound

By the small print of his policy,

And tied to the crags for thrills.