Random Sunday Evening Thoughts


Freedom is not control,
but rather not needing it.

I am free
in September rain,

in how it slides
down asleep grass.

Asphalt is an expression
without speed limits,

without shoulders and fences
where the horizon falls.

I am free in sight
along the strong lines

of an idea opening petals,
thought sustaining imagination.

Consequence

after conversations concerning,
as hands cradle coffee cups --

in the crevices between
voices a physical presence

dripped from the cores of stories
which seldom evolve beyond --

in the years history accompanied
us through, as though a camera,

We, historical librarians cataloged
and the waves we witnessed

caressing and careening
the Tobermory coasts between

harbors became metaphor
for change freed from entropy

and our loves were chipped smooth
by wind, by waves, until they became ice