Confluence

Take Me Home 

wandering, desultory, gazing 
en vacances 

an image appears 

out of the fog 
on the road by the bog 

preceded by heraldry: 
chugging, a harmonic rumble 
and the slow procession enters frame 

we're just old folks 
with nothin' to do so 
we ride around 
together 

and just like 
when you roll over 
coming out of a dream 
I glanced away - a moment - 
and they were gone 

This is the fourth pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.

I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.

I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfect a trine.

The Munsalvāsche Line 

the not so desperadoes 
waiting for a train 
are not waiting 
for this train 
unlike myself 
always waiting 
for the next train 
of any line. 

so long as I can see it 
or hear the low rumble 
or the whistle's lonesome moan 
it will carry me. 

it will carry me 
to a place I've always known 
as far away as it is 
immediately 
at hand 

a feeling inside 
one can inhabit 
something like 

home. 

This is the third pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.

I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.

I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfect a trine.

Glimpse 

beyond the reach of floodlights 
and the lined spaces of parking lots 
that herald the arrival of the outpost franchise 
of groceries and of general merchandise, 
stores with currency in their names... 
or the arrival of the next winery 
or the next brewery 

the presence of the past 
is context 

and while it will remain 
after the distilleries 
and dispensaries 
deliver the 
future 
to those of us 
still living in the land 
of the past 

it will disappear from view. 

This is the second pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.

I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.

I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfect a trine.

Sunny Samarra 

light reflected, light absorbed 
color aids navigation 
and provides concealment 

one lies in wait 
for those who come 
to feed on nectar 
and carry off pollen 
Death's representative 
in bright and cheery guise 

this harbinger waits, hidden in plain sight 
making it hard to tell food from foe 
or Baghdad from Samarra 

This is the first pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.

I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.

I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfect a trine.