Still Life

The thin, tall vase stands still on the windowsill
like a sentinel
the gerbera, still full of life, is dipped into its water and made to face away from the view
its blood red petals admired as chores are performed in the kitchen
but over time, when unobserved, it slowly turns to face the sun
to gaze at the garden from whence it did come

Dawn’s Chorus

I can hear dawn’s chorus
announcing for us
that we’ve survived another night
and when we’re ready
we can open our eyes
and check to see
if we’re still in our right minds
with what’s left of our wits
but every day I think
at some point between lights-out and sunrise
I wouldn’t be surprised
to awake to discover
I’ve gone completely stark raving mad