Tag Archives: Fears

Shepherds Of The Street

31 Mar

The shepherds of the street who pass our house
each day do not suppose they go their way for me.
By gentle steps, one or two move past our place.

At times, a posse walks up to the store
to meet some friends or buy a pack of smokes

and as they go, they talk to me if I am there
and rise above my fear to catch their eye.
Or I may give a Hey, to my surprise.

I am sure I never have that much to say,
but when we speak—or nod our heads to make a sign,
or pound our fists to greet, or even when,

from in the house, I hear them on their way—
I find their presence to be not unlike a compass.

The shepherds of the street do not suppose
they go for me, but, steady, move their feet
south by southwest or else north by northeast.

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Broken

10 Nov

cracked_glass man on knees

Between us, on a tabletop of glass, a working hand
becomes a hammer.  Blood does not spill, it boils.  

Shards lament the ways we will not mend, and how
the heart, like a fractal, repeats a pattern of breaks

and splits when magnified.  My heart shoves blood
along a crooked line until I heed the rattle-crack

and attend the bang of anger.  The embittered rackets
rise until the broken pieces lay at rest between us.