Eidolons
Windblown rain-rusted
merry-go-round drifts in fog,creaks across decades.
*
Muted trumpet drifts through
trees filling park, a tune
mourning time's passing.
*
Crumpled voice of old man
sings Stormy Monday --
no one is visible.
Swirling Wind
leaves empty cartons of Chinese takeout
discarded cigarettes broken twigs
pruned flower buds and coveys
of children in wild abandon
whirl down small town side streets
where I lean against a wall
holding fast to my hat to prevent
it from joining early evening fray
as John Coltrane with barely controlled
boldness explores in nuanced detail
"My Favorite Things" on nearby radio
while a mother standing in a doorway
shouts chowtime to wee bairns who ignore
her as they bounce round neighbor's lawn
deep blue sky slowly darkens
and landscape takes a deep breath
moon blooms above wooded hills
rafts of clouds tow it overhead
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