Just an image for today. . .

The House Underground

My house is planted underground.
No one hears our whistling tea pot
And no one catches the lavender scent
hanging in the windowsill.

You can press your ear towards the musky earth
and hear the quiet muffles of our lives
like the history a sea shell gives.

Prelude to Pea Coats at the Gym

The gym swayed from its normal gray
to the peak of soft yellows
as five men in long, tweed coats
dappled into the gym.

Their heads buoyed slowly
from left to right
like bobbles on a string.

They spoke in waves
amidst each other as they strolled
around the machines in dress slacks.
Most with white and one with reddish
brown hair stood with hands in their pockets.

The peaceful sentinels huddled
around a treadmill, examining the buttons,
ruminating nothing.

They left lazily against the sweaty rhythm
of students, like a ball of cotton
floating in a whirly wind.

Mourning Dove

I caught a glimpse of the Mourning Dove
dancing with the snow,
an apparition of something holy.
Her cloudy feathers shook
the remaining leaves from the cotton
wood’s branches. Her lamenting call
floating upon my shoulders.