Crooked oak
laced with ivory
crowned by flag
swallowing lavender suede
4 PM autumn pillow clouds
Because I’d forgotten
the intensity it takes
to write a good poem
the universe sent a speeding suburban
to spin me loopy
dizzy up the mellow comfort
Twisted in the winds of autumn
charmed with luck and precision
On my fifth life
at least
but never banking
on having nine
so live each one
to the hilt
scrying with bark
into plasma crystal
I’ll offer my opinion
if prompted
but never expect
anyone else to assume it
we all have our own
and meet in that center spot
parallel and adjacent
For a moment I believed
poetry was a vehicle
for transmuting suffering
into creative expressions
of inspiration
capturing snapshots in time