WHAT IN THE WORLD

Dawn, that old hooker light of the world
returns from wherever she spent the night in the world.

Dust motes randomly dance on a yellowish beam,
soft-nudging my dream to a flight from the world.

So much to do…sweep and dust, dust, and it’s
dusty again! It feels like a fight with the world.

It’s important not to be eaten, at least for today,
or be carried away by the huge appetite of the world.

In their globular bowl, small fry hang among floating
green fronds, hide in the watersprite from the world.

You chocolate mustachioed child, how I love
how your day is another big bite of the world.

Such lucky animals, those who have learned
when to be—and not be—polite in the world.

All of a sudden the day is riddled with hiccups
here as I say once again gesundheit to the world.

One eventually comes to notice the colors of dust—
so many shades between black and white in the world.

I know by a certain color of blue—and also
because we have music, something is right in the world.
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WHAT IN THE WORLD

EQUINOX

The toad shook off two snowy
eyebrows with a sudden twitch.
Mud shivered in the blowy
balm, rippled the juicy ditch.
Toad popped its eyes awake,
tapped by a warm green witch
and listened for the snake
between the lines, between
the woods and the lip of the lake.

The snake wiped itself clean
against a brand new blade
of grass, and practiced looking mean.
Scales, skin newly-made,
wet with excitement and tight
on the courage of the unafraid,
tongue flapping a small red kite,
snake kept its body low
in wait, and saved its bite.

The toad, heavy and slow
with eggs, had to cross the line
between new waters and old snow.

How could a snake pine
sentimentally for what
its gut demanded by design?

Snake brain cracked like a nut.
Coiled venom, raging spit
leapt from the rut
and took the toad, near all of it
into the mouth.  But deep
the toad moan would not fit
nor drift to easy sleep
down in the snake.  It caught high
in the maw, swimming to keep

alive.  The monster that followed
was dreadful to see, as it tried
to get into, get out of, the hollow–

a birth in reverse, blaming the sky
for being unable to swallow
for being unable to die.
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EQUINOX
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(This poem was composed after actually witnessing the snake/toad event and posted two spring equinoxes ago. I’m posting it now as I greet autumn, for my Southern Hemisphere readers who are greeting spring. I was surprised to find that it works for me, either way, as an “equinox feeling”.)
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EQUINOX

The toad shook off two snowy
eyebrows with a sudden twitch.
Mud shivered in the blowy
balm, rippled the juicy ditch.
Toad popped its eyes awake,
tapped by a warm green witch
and listened for the snake
between the lines, between
the woods and the lip of the lake.

The snake wiped itself clean
against a brand new blade
of grass, and practiced looking mean.
Scales, skin newly-made,
wet with excitement and tight
on the courage of the unafraid,
tongue flapping a small red kite,
snake kept its body low
in wait, and saved its bite.

The toad, heavy and slow
with eggs, had to cross the line
between new waters and old snow.

How could a snake pine
sentimentally for what
its gut demanded by design?

Snake brain cracked like a nut.
Coiled venom, raging spit
leapt from the rut
and took the toad, near all of it
into the mouth.  But deep
the toad moan would not fit
nor drift to easy sleep
down in the snake.  It caught high
in the maw, swimming to keep

alive.  The monster that followed
was dreadful to see, as it tried
to get into, get out of, the hollow–

a birth in reverse, blaming the sky
for being unable to swallow
for being unable to die.