Green and White

.
.
Cool
morning:
everything
damp from an early rain:
the sky like a white dome: a good day
to simmer the string beans:
no time left
to look
back.
.
.
On
the way
to Asheville
we stopped for a picnic.
At wood’s edge, I noticed a flower
I’d never seen before:
Fly Poison –
flowers
spiked.
.

Three Blues Diamonds

.
.
The
old rag
and bottle
men down in New Orleans
would play cheap tin horns, making blue notes
that brought the children out
for candy
and small
toys.
.
.
In
my youth,
the showmen
each had a style, a hat,
a handkerchief, a worn overcoat,
and voices that knew time:
character:
the real
stuff.
.
.
The
bent notes

of the blues
come from the depths: they turn
that piercing sliver of cool sweet sound
that makes your soul shiver:
their women
loved that
way.
.

.

.

A beautiful still life by Rosemary Sexton's friend Zena.

Who could resist such a painting.

.

.

Zena's Truth

I am the plum
inside the apple-plum confection.

I am the word unspoken.

I am the glow beneath
the white rose petal, above its shadow.

I am the sound
between the black and white keys

where the painters live

who paint koi
in the flow of cool water.

Favorite Creatures

.

.

.
The
manta
rays glide through
the sea with ease: rippling
wings propel them: do they dream walk
on dry ground as I dream
of floating
above
trees?

.

.

.

I
waited
patiently
for hippopotamus
to gape her mouth: a vast pink chasm:
blunt bone teeth: bulk under
water: those
wiggly
ears.