There Is:

There is a scale
The size of a marble : the size of a planet : the size of...
Across its ruler are the names of everyOneSoulThing
In one dish there is an army of humans and fire and earth
In the other, a single tear which knows its beauty

Nothing has moved in a thousand millennia
Tomorrow is heavier still. I am flying.

Behind Tint

I am translucent behind the tint

Witness to worlds

The cast dissolves

My vision sublimates into air

The tribunals of humans go blind

No brush in hand to paint me

No gavels yearn

I observe unhindered

Uncompromising beauty

Of  a small boy willing wonder

Of a teen finding her feet

The airy ocean hand of a mother

Keeping lulled midst the ruin

Of which you

Or I

Could never manage to close an eye in

Beautiful Children.

No witch hunt

No lament of evil

Or threat toward my thrill

As common as anyone else's

Behind the tint I am

And become much more than a man

Something greater

A Person. A Terran. An Earthling.

I walk amongst you

At these ushered hours.

Metro 487

I lean silently to the alcove

                    And listen

Two strangers speak

                    She regales

The tortures of canceled routes

The ignorance of drivers

The self-service of car owners

The follies of the Metro

                    But I watch him

He agrees, nods, tells his story

                    Pleasantly. Efficiently.

He notes they have another ten minutes

                    They continue to talk

Boarding, I watch them go

He sits several rows back

                    On the opposite side

Shorter, less dressed or shaven, prettier than

                    I realize

I am that man.

Zen upon Sunrise

There will be a gold bloom

Fast and quiet it blossoms

Rays of petals

Tickling the green palms

Kissing the glass faces of sky scrapers

Opening up it is as in dreams

The gate to Nirvana

At four a.m. we have a little ways

                    Or at least a short eternity

Before full bloom

Traveling South

The world walks here
Sitting in what they call beating contemporary -
          I'm bored of it already
A year is just yesterday -
          they have not forgotten
And the New Century has still only just begun

The valley yawns
Cold slumber undone -
          the land has been left for dead
And the trees tell us the future -
          they speak of God
Curled and twisted they fall upon themselves without their guise or blanket

The Starbox on the left holds their hipsters
Faux hawks and retro military coats -
         Varsity jackets and knitting yarn
The radio news proves the youth is not lost -
         I cry unknown and sleep through what they call ruckus
I heard this song six months ago, claiming
     the Foreign Streets as my home.