Reflections

        reflections
in a pool of water
        rippled
by the passing breeze
        stilled
by the passing of time

        reflections
in a storefront window
        rippled
by the passing crowd
        frozen
by the fall of darkness

        reflections
in the mirrors of life
        wrinkled
by the passing of time
        topped
by a crop of snow
        a broken hinge on the gate to the meadow
                a creak in the windmill
                        the ticking of the clock

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The Hero’s Gaze

        like a madman
walking up and down the street
shouting furiously
        at the cars he sees

        (one by one
their shadows fall) upon his flying gaze
with instincts of unnatural ability
he flings himself
        across the face of death

        the hero’s gaze
welcomes you to come aboard
to share his only chance
at life and glory
        at a glance

        “Come fly with me,” he gargles
and spits into your horrify-eyes
(like chaps across a bramble) a cushion
against the bristle
        of his life

        (I wish that I could tell you more) for
heroes die each day
just don’t be so surprised
to find
        you fear the hero’s gaze

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