In front of the library (the one with the lions)

On dark -hued slate,
a brocade of ice crystals--
slippery its beauty....

January sun
against my cool cheeks
gives morning a golden glow

Recipe for War

Mingle right and wrong,
put gold trim on the trousers--
tinge it all with blood...

Cloudy Dawn

The sun's in a box
beneath layers of tissue,
designer ribbons....

These New York towers,
sleek as junkyard cats,
glower square their inner fire....

All the hard cinders,
all the courage with pain--
over the hurdles...

The effort of the waves,
and their ultimate defeat--
smooth the sandy beach...

Each day's a river
carpeting the sea,
the edgy, tattered- edged sea...

"Garden"

Somewhere, buried beneath the carrots,
lies rage.
Love is under the sweet potatoes, the nubby,
mushy, orange-yellow sweet potatoes.
One has to dig for love.
One doesn't have to dig for rage.

Almost an Epitaph

I arrived in woods--
and I've heard the black crows caw
for someone like me....

The dying embers
of January's sunsets
light my memories

Times Square Garden

Tough as stage doorknobs
the decorative cabbage
blooms January...

Enamels of days
(ancient memories)
cover these old hotel walls....

An ocean of love--
leaning out and leaning in--
the waves always change

Orchestrate your dance
to the exciting number
of equal one and one

January 1st

Alongside the fire,
the Christmas tree still twinkles
as if it was new...

January now,
the days grow slightly longer--
but the sun's meek, mild--
a follower on his knees--
brass clapper on a bell.

Saw the fox again,
plus those two white tailed--
we all travel this new year....