2.6.2015

tonight, it’s the Blues

that slow-doleful prayer for understanding –

a measure of salt for the cheeks on a night spent by the window

with a glass of something that burns (on the rocks, of course)

and that solitary pine for companion

tonight, it’s the Blues, yes

but tomorrow, I’ll be Jazz

2.5.2015

the crocuses have awoken, a defiant yellow flare against the bricks

and my shoes have grown fonder this year of puddles than I might wish

so much so, that my toes have pruned by the end of the day

yet I am reluctant to cast them off –

who am I to come between lovers in the spring?