What is it about the crisp
December night that beckons me
outside
and compels me to look
past the tree tops
past the clouds
to the hopeful moon
and beyond?
a rainy day poem
drops of rainwater
accumulate neatly
a slow puddle forms
outside my window
where the gray clouds reflect dimly
shadows of themselves.
where do I find myself?
reflected
in the droplets or the clouds?
the view from shore
the sailboats bob
in the bay —
a languid dance
upon the gentle waves.
sometimes together
sometimes alone
their masts
pointing singly
to heaven