Night Wind

Image

Shadow, our first and Last cat

WayneSL 1989

My soul is restless as a cat on windy nights,
when thoughts like pretty ribbons
in the wind are dangled briefly,
catch my eye, I reach, and
off they go, to draw me out and on
to dance the dervish, fly aloft
in silvern light ascending,
whiskers twitching, wideyes shining . . . .

BABYTALK

WayneSL 1987–Michael

I listen to my
baby talk
baby talk
into the dark of a sleep-still room.

Beneath the moon
a jet lands
a car sings by
and the leaves of a sapling applaud
a clever night breeze.

He’s speaking words of his own invention
a song of good and happy thoughts
no lies.
He is what I was
unlimited.

His mother and I lie arm for arm
leg on leg, sharing
a long unguarded border
like shadows of each other
in suspended animation.

I ignore the cramp that bids me move
as long as I can.

Eighty Degrees at Dawn

The last few neighbors find beds
quail under mom
skink on a rock
Sun through Joshua spikes lights fruit.
This is a jubilee year.
Dew on Desert Rose
drips past thorns and leaves
to moist roots locked in Caliche.
Mist made taller by the mirage
gently, slowly fades
’til petals apart reveal a melting heart.

Damn the wind

Damn the wind

WayneSL 2013

Damn the wind that scatters this land.

Damn the dusty silken webs
that lull my sodden slumber

floating here in this dry-baked cemetery

shell-shocked numb from gusty buffets

squeezing eyes shut against the blast of sand

and tasting the Hanta virus and the Greasewood.

Stinking Cheesebrush clings to shifting waves of sand

and Juniper barely holds in the higher spots

Buckwheat does not nourish
nor Hop Sage fill my parched longing.

I dream of the ocean

and the Redwoods

and lush meadows of irrepressible wild grass

while hunkering down against the angry blast

next to a Kangaroo rat and a blinking tortoise

conserving what energy and moisture we have

saving it for the dash when the Mojave Green arrives.