Through the seasons, changed

If my seeds of friendship never planted,
and I became a jobless dust bowl upon the plain,
if I was the last leaf to fall from my family tree,
and I, homeless, fell upon the roadside snow,
I’d sing with weathered lips,
“He is here. . . He is here. . . .”

Through the seasons, changed–
coalesced by Nature and my nature,
unable to hold my own, beholden to only one
comforting me in this melange of madness.

This thawing day

How long till You all come back again?

the defrosting trees toss glass upon the concrete cracks,
as the campus grounds liberate themselves, from their snowy mounds
from which I was once hiding away, before this thawing day,
from the frozen frost below, hostage by the augmented snow
in my fully-furnaced room above, but today is not the spring I love,
and the sun and his nemesis, snow, still waltz window to window
as I glide past the glaring glass, I pause, to reflect, to ask,
“Mother!1, Father!2 When will your children wake up?”
1Mother Earth
2Father God

Scarved leaves parachute

scarved leaves parachute to block my way,
oblivious to my important conversations inside,
“We’re dying” they say in solemn faces drifting–
ignoring me ignoring them?
and being a Goodfella, I grind their uncovered graves into the newly laid concrete,
bloody gray– “Bloody right,
we’re dying.” I say
and walk on.