***watch video in comments to better understand this poem.

 If people change as seasons change 

I watched the moon. I watched it wax and wane
I watched it take on different shapes.
I watched it thin, I watched it grow,
and somehow it felt good to know
Every night is not the same.
The weather and the seasons change.

They measure the tides that go in and out
they know how to predict the clouds.
There are scientific names for phases,
a term for each way the moon looks and changes.

They name the waters, they name the stars
they view the world from inside their cars.

**These were all short, so I thought I'd post them together.**

[1.] "The Arborist's Dream"
The cherry tree, I dreamt, was blighted.
Its bark was bubbling up, frothing pink at each joint.
The disease was making it turn into a cherry soda, all fizzy.
I, the arborist, with my ladder climbed
and trimmed, and pruned, and treated
but in vain.
I could not find the source and kill it,
so the tree was going to die.

tea-strings all tied up
on my fingertips, leading somewhere
airplanes all high up
above the runway strips, heading somewhere
I told you it doesn't have to be this way
it was just a feeling

tea-string all tied up
I can't remember
what to remember

airplanes all high up
against the palm backdrop;
should I remember?

tea-strings now tether us
by our fingertips, knit us together
airplanes won't take us
we're stuck on runway strips, knit tight together

*I was thinking about some of the characters in my new novel, when this one jumped out at me. A spy for someone evil, and yet he has a good heart and does something wonderful and self-sacrificing at the end. I wondered about why he was like that... and I guess this is my answer.*



Hush, hush little baby boy
your mama is gone, but your papa's nearby
he rocks you to sleep and sings a lullaby
hush, hush little baby boy

Bright-eyed boy, growing,
and watching him draw
the lines of the mountains that one time we saw

We dance, we whisper,
We hide our face.
We hide, we look,
We find no trace.
We look for people;
We look for hearts.
We all deceive,
By skillful arts.

We gaze, we search,
We hide away.
We look, we see,
We hear, we say.
We hide, we seek,
We never find.
We hear them speak,
Yet not their mind.

We love, we hate,
We never tell.
We're strangers all,
Yet know too well.
We laugh, we cry,
We always act.
We say, we lie
Yet all with tact.

I don't know you
but I see your face, in black and white
and brown and grey
and yellowed paper,
torn, frayed
I don't know your name
But your pen has etched words between pages,
half-read, half-wondered,
smoothly curlicued
Hello there!
and Muskaka Avenue

I don't know you,
but there are weddings, deaths
communion, baptism,
flowers

I don't know your name
but there's someone smiling
up from brittle pages,
and a tiny television set, brand new
and black and white,

Far on high
Soaring through the clouds
Smoke pours out
Flames shoot forth
Powerful wings beat
I gaze in awe
As it flies by
Beautiful, wonderful
I reach
But it’s too far
I slowly turn away
My friends call
They laugh when I say
“A Dragon”
I look back
And see it again
The head turns my way
I lift a hand and wave
He dives down
Closer, closer still
Almost on the earth
He soars away
I sigh and whisper and say
“Yes a Dragon”