Parkinson’s
She teeters and wobbles,
The natural gyroscope of her
Footsteps on earth twisted
Into a spinal corkscrew
By poisons that slow down
Phantom convulsions
To the pace of a snail
Hit by garden bait.
She doesn’t complain much,
Earth Tether
This is the creek bed
Full of stones and dry
Sinews of the flow that led
Once lush without a sigh
To a war
Caressed with swirls of watery grace
Like a sky arch to this home
A palm of loving interface.
Winter Solstice in Provence
Rain wavelets overlap in drafts
Down a mountain bowl of air,
Sweeping sage smokes and juniper,
Washing walnut roots and lavender,
Burrowing into chalk bones of the land.
Resurrection of Jews in Germany
We are coming back.
Not for revenge.
Not for your sake.
Not even to prove something to God.
But because life demands it.
We do it reluctantly.
Yet we know our resistance
Will have to yield.