Night Market [Free Verse]

in the chiaroscuro world
of the night market,
fruity colors blare in
orange,
green,
& 
yellow
between angular 
shadows

the sun is down;
the city is alive,
and soon the 
night market 
will be lively

The Crossing [Free Verse]

A ship
crosses the ocean,

in the darkness:
darkness, black & endless

no moon,
no stars,
just clouds -- thick & low
clouds that can't be seen

The ship has lights,
but those lights know
an event horizon

Lights sometime 
glint against the waves,
those roiling & undulating
waves,

and the lights bounce off
the ship's hull

But no one can see them,
because if anyone could see them,
the seers would be seen--
unless theirs is a ghost ship,
piloted by literal ghosts,
or some other agent of observation

Maybe there is fog --
not enveloping the ship,
(such mist would be felt
on the skin of those on deck)
but, rather, a fog between 
where the ship is,
and where is should be

For it is surely off course,
listlessly drifting,
all hope arrayed against edges:

edges of ice
&
edges of the world

Not that the world is flat,
but, perhaps, it's not fully sculpted:
maybe nothing lies outside
the range of the seen:
outside the bounds of experience

It sounds crazy, 
but all kinds of crazy
form in a mind
submerged in darkness

Smoke & Fire [Common Meter]

The spastic flame that dances fast:
too weird to match to drum.
The teary eye strays into trance
as if deadened by rum.

Where will the flame transport us now
that smoke has made us cry?
Where will the cracking sounds take us
as we turn to the sky?

The moon is out and casts a glow,
a glow of milky white.
And each dim point of starlight burns
trillions of times as bright
as that feeble, little campfire 
that rules what I now feel:
the heat, the smoke, the popping sounds
that now make my head reel.