A torn page in a book
on a cloudy day------ is this
a disguise for heaven or a 
sign to stay in bed and 
read Ulysses out loud to
the cat purring comfort on
my chest-------listening to 
my heart beat and dreaming 
of a mother she never knew.

Curl warm under the ancient quilt
safe from the damp and grey------
when birds don't fly and
coyotes hunker quiet in their dens
warding off dangerous depression
sadness without a sun 
to warm our courage and 
help old joints to move toward life.

Wake up----- there is no time
to laze about when all life 
churns undeniably forward------
move in to where the
coffee is warm and cognac flow to 
warm weary hearts beyond
self sorrow that will destroy a
hasty heart----- I acquiesce to the
tug at my heart to brave the dark.

Wake up sad heart to the crack
in the clouds and the beam of sunlight
that rejects such a foolish funk--------
there is no time to languish about 
when there are words to be organized
into pensive thought or
hypotheses yet undiscovered or
roads not yet traveled where
new galaxies are discovered and
new lives are unlocked.    

Sky pilot angel soaring through space
between planets and glowing stars long gone
now only an illusion to my tired embarrassed eyes.

Soaring through endless nothingness
filled with but crepuscular energy
unseen, unfelt, unfound, unfit 
for gross existence and known only
in apprehension by old soul sages.

Does time rush slow or fast 
neither diligent nor deceased
lazing in endless terrain
where nothing prevails
to pull you back to truth
ejected from such fortune.

Lynx cats gather around 
a shaman named Marcel
while midnight snow fell voiceless,
winds howled through high mountain passes
bears birthed their cubs silently.

Pancho Villa raided my dreams as
I feigned sleep that night naked
in the dry Sonoran Desert south
of the sacred Sedona vortex.

How many days I wandered lost
forgetting the rotting wooden ship from
that distant dead star we
sailed from a light year ago.

Now I spend blue sky days done
from writing songs of youth when
time stood still & quiet for
a life not yet begun or fulfilled.

Do not wait to write your music or
your poetry or sing your songs or
run your races or to dance and love . . . 
immortality is a seductive mistress.