They wake to loud alarms
tie their shoes, affix their charms…

So proud are they, so quick, so smart
In logic, mathematics, art

They cannot spare one glance above
To chart the flight of mourning dove.


The sublime

Is bounteous yet too obscure
And they, consuming time and, thus, allure

Shout and stamp their feet, ensnare
The air they cannot bear to share.


I’ve only ever told the Sun
I’ve only ever told the Sun

My bees are falling through
My fingers.  My fish all brew

In murky waste and oil

With fireworks, balloons, and lead
they tumble down and join the bed

Of toys my children leave behind
I needn’t look twelve feet to find

Their dishes, napkins, soda cans
Their Jaguars and minivans –

The crashed car parts, a wooden cross
The stones arrayed, acres of loss.


My children eat and shoot and leave
With tear-stained cheeks, they pull my sleeve.

I hold them tight and wind up again each squall
I am their Mother after all.