Every day rises precious -
precious as icebergs calving along
the Ross Shelf...
they're independent now and dwindling.
As these flocks scatter like liquid sand,
don't forget to count the moments
you watched them bob away
sapphire and regal.
Each Sunday some wiry lad wobbles
across taut ropes - slack lining,
where balance is cool.
Free to take a flying leap
on a galloping goose.
Free to stretch another line to the moon,
stitch up the ozone, resurrect islands,
renew Lake Chad.
Free to shiver off kilter and
believe it's just to our knees
we fall...begging for bruised elbows,
twisted limbs - something simple to swaddle
something small to bathe
in orange amber with an iodine swab,
better by morning.
Keep the choices easy.
Each sunny day clouds our memory
for rain, brightens this good gooey life;
soft and sweet feeds a fat bottom line
but it feels pithy to the rock
hard resolve of the Nile or the Rhine,
swallowing mountains since Methuselah.
Soft and sweet melts away in their maws.
Bare bones pray.
Precious elbow of the galloping goose,
please tip cool my wiry independence
stitch it in amber orange and wobble
the gooey ozone free, swaddling islands
tucked under liquid sand, and as
twisted lines slack abundantly toward Sunday;
bruise not the bobbing Rhine,
rising regal as our days.