The ocean vast
closes in.
Clouds drop.
If the horizon still exists,
it's behind an approaching
wall of gray.
Whatever is closing down
the world has also
drained it of color.
The shadows are black.
The sea foam is white.
Everything else is
some dim, earthy tone.
The sea may have retained
a hint of green or blue,
but it's hard to tell --
so darkened &
gray-infused
are the waters.
I fear the world may shrink
to a dot, like an old timey TV
snapped off, a dot that's
bright white but cold.
winter clouds:
will they / won't they rain? or snow?
or just menace?
the sunflower
that bows its head in the sun
feels pensive.
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
the river trickles.
but its broad shoulders tell
of expectations.
in a city park,
muscular baobabs &
wiry strangler figs
provide residences
for the fierce squirrels.
the inner sanctum:
an insect chirps ceaselessly,
but remains unseen.
clouds dance around
the gibbous moon’s bright orb,
one warm winter night.
under gray skies,
the flooded paddies
amplify winter gloom.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 