Friday, December 07, 2012


Next to a small patch of grass
the bass vibrato emerging hides
a small tree frog somewhere within.

I see, on Facebook, people I once knew
now the moon-shaped faces of strangers
married, with children, praising god.

I hear my parent's voices when I call
slower, different, filling with the pauses
and shuffling cadence of time.

I return to the grass, the cool
crisp sun of the desert's early winter.
There is no sound but the distant hiss

a far off sprinkler, whose cool waters
must have flowed down, and for a brief
moment breathed life into this little world.

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