Three Diamond Poems

Evening
does not fall;
it creeps into the sky
like ink clouds thickening in water
seeping down from behind
the global
turning.

The
diamond
gathers light
inward to a center,
a holographic concentration
that traps a tiny star
inside its
vacant
heart.


The blues
bring me down
to that place where I can’t
do nothin’ but smoke and drink black rum:
a bird on the railing
turns his eye:
winds swirl.