Schachnovelle

THUMB inky, Zweig pauses from feverish writing about feverish
CHESS, tale of a man whose body slipped the Gestapo’s clutches, whose mind did not.
SYRUPy Fios de Ovos is brought to his table. The
HOTEL staff quietly fusses over Zweig. Perhaps the care of staff may yet ground an unquiet mind.

Hermione

FLAIR for study, for depth of thought, yet frail to fear.
EVOKEs question, how will you age, will you thrive?
OTTER: clever, bold, and playful. Will the
WRIST that swishes spells also grow into an otter’s paw?

What Trees Might Recount

SUGAR sap pressure ebbing, yet bare arms stay held aloft in winter’s cold.
KNEED with branch knots, gnarled giant stands firm in time.
ELDER, awaiting springs, you watched our generations as they
AROSE, then fell. If you could spread our tales like a rustling canopy!

Strong Verb

’WOKEN’, Old English still pulses in your shift from ‘wake’,
SCALE of inflection makes you a relic among verbs.
BLUFF their way past you, modern speakers do,
FLING ‘awakened’ about, steer clear of queasy changes in the stem.

The Lost, pt. 2

PIPER on stereo entoning Scotland the Brave; where is my courage?
WIGHT still shimmers by the stump in the yard. Rubbing my
CHEEK, I feel warmth. Yet, stump is frozen, your life, your
VIGOR hidden above. I await the great thaw.

The Lost

ALBUM in the background, beautiful, serene, but I,
GHOUL, gazing on the yard, scry the unseen in vegetation’s decline,
LOOPY specters and shades superimpose as those lost to me:
STUMP is not a missing tree, but you and my memory of you.

Light beckons

SUNNY day, enough sleep, reasonable tasks,
DROSS of life remote, ghosts and demons at bay.
SPARK, beauty, lift up, joy, flow over, love, this day.
CHOKE will soon enough broken streets, hurt and hurting people, my own defaults.