at any given
moment we can
become transparent
without the wind stopping
or the waves counting on
themselves to be waves

a naturalness in
the way change
and change again
rises fromĀ  a thousand
campfires on an endless
plain before the oldest
battle to discover the brilliant
emerald valley at the end
of a moment of
nothing but
the breath I
hang on

Yellow Bus, Yellow Bus


winter wrapped
in a blue grey morn
I stand
waiting for the light
to change

for the world as I know it
to pass

waiting almost
without eyes
cornered by another
morning rush

when heaven opens
in a smile
from a yellow bus
passing by

a child’s wave
from a frosty window
floods me with delight
his lips play
a soundless good-bye
as the bus turns
taking him to school

yellow bus, yellow bus
took me too