Flip

if I rolled over into tomorrow’s greenery
I would miss the imaginary incessant hum
permeating the universe
miss the invisible fences at the edges of the solar system
where the heliopause begins
 
if I closed my eyes at night
I would miss the tangle of 1970s pinball machines
a choking infinity symbol
replete with buzzers, bells, and flashing lights
 
if I made plans, resolutions, lists, and agendas
I would miss the natural explosions and epiphanies of
spontaneity, synchronicity, simple satisfactions
 
if I stop caring
I would miss these pertinent webs families construct
friendships fluctuating between
funny and fearful
 
flip the coins
surreptitiously cheat so the mean average
is something we can all continue to live with
 
[RK, 12/31/21]

Night Garden

Weeds are inevitable,

insects prosper, 

and I’ve been awake 

for twenty years charting

their cross pollinations, 

their lucky mutations, 

their interspecies romances 

that would not be possible 

had I closed my eyes at night.

[LSS, 12/30/21] 

Winter Scene

The light of the microwave 

coming over my shoulder

like a messenger angel 

and a pomegranate on the cutting board 

waiting.

[LSS, 12/30/21]

Because Maybe You’ll Go Back 

You walk through the irrigation ditch

on your way to the map museum, 

which (have you forgotten?)

has been closed for renovation

for over forty years.

[LSS, 12/30/21]

The Cambrian Explosion

hundreds of people with organic bodies
pulsating, pumping blood, churning movement
partially automatic
what moves, motivates these organisms?
what desire says: life will not be denied
life will always find a way
 
sentience of primates, mammals, birds, fish
the fifty-three phyla of life on Earth
unchanged since the Cambrian Explosion
 
[RK, 12/30/21]

Time as an Island

I try to not view time as a calendar/clock artifact
yet 2021 turned out to be a measurable, distinct, chunk of the fourth dimension
now the water flows in narrow irrigation channels
and the plants thrive in their sup-tropical winter greenery
yet brown and yellow deciduous leaves
speckle the best kept gardens
clouds block mid-day sunlight
weeds are inevitable
insects prosper
 
I’ve already addressed the need for new wall calendars
added positive thinking messages to daily use hard drive documents
a map of Nova Scotia pinned above the work from home desk
because, well
maybe
maybe I’ll go back
 
yet going back
refers to returning to something anew and returning to what was
another fucking conundrum
I was so close to making this make sense
the calendars, clocks, wristwatches, smart phones, sundials, hourglasses
the time/date icon in the corner of the monitor
the maps, lists, travel gear, stay-at-home necessities
the burnt lunar offerings
the best-laid meals
morning light breaking above the island
 
[RK, 12/28/21]

When the Light Changes

Say good night to the spider

living in the electrical outlet

behind the compost bowl.

Fall asleep in a corner

while the world fixes itself 

another cocktail. 

Dream a bowl of heart-shaped

berries onto the kitchen counter.

Share them with the spider

when the sun comes up.

[LSS, 12/18/21]

Morning Redux

She opens her eyes

and feels the fish 

swimming up and down

her spine, their gills,

red velvet, sieving sand.

She can only imagine

what might have been 

eroding during the night. 

She will never know.

So she rakes the sand 

into palm-sized islands 

shaped like puzzle pieces

and spends the morning trying 

to find places for them to fit.

[LSS, 12/17/21]

It’s Okay to Engage in Repeated Actions
 
you said: what makes you happy?
what brings you joy?
here’s what happens
the interminable piling on of hours
overwhelms past days of adventure
and day-to-day excitement
 
lost in decades of life-shuffle
well I keep bumping against well-meaning voices
deactivating my possible integrations
 
let me go
while you cling
let me move forward through oceans of molasses
so many possible islands
so many possible jig-saw puzzle pieces
 
I haven’t any answers to this conundrum
just slow steps while creating the future
 
[RK, 12/16/21]
 
 
Trigger Warning
 
out of the ordinary morning
driving down an 8 AM busy 3 lane
waiting for a green left turn arrow
so prosaic
 
early light misted in random trees
nostalgia which happens less frequently as the years pile up
it pulls me into a collection of muddled flashbacks
part of me follows these memories, briefly
then the light changes
 
[RK, 12/16/21]

Happy New Year

here I am again
in this year's garden
the wind still tells the same story
exemplification
of what goes on

Here we are again
awaiting the beginning of another calendar year
another batch of salad greens
another long shopping list of 
should have, did not

in this cool sub-tropical morning
the coffee cools by noticeable degrees
the thriving green ponders weak sunlight
another day raises its hand
and falls into place

[RK, 12/15/21]

I Dreamed I Had 20/20 Hindsight

our diary sputters like recalcitrant lawn mowers
images of rhythmic waves supersede that noisy freak
what I move toward, what desire sprouts
from sea-green playlists

brick-red coral bleached by sunlight
broken shells, the ill-mannered and cracked crustacean carapaces
beach metaphors and similes fail me                                                                                   

garden soil in the cuffs of my jeans                                                                                 horizons of health and home, everywhere I turn

the nightly 3:00 AM review of 
poor decisions and useless clinging

random solitary moments
when mortality envelopes me
with organic oxidation

[RK, 12/15/21]