Purple Umbrella – a Memory

No bad luck. Just pure Joy.



September Tells a Tale

September tells me a story

of children made only of fog

or of the perfect arrangement of fallen leaves

right before the breeze blows.


Some children wanted to sing

and others to shine.


But children shimmer

and then are gone –

sear sucker left on the ground rumpled.


They grow up,

move into cities of wine,

houses of immaculate deception.