(1984)
The house is quiet
Only the ticking of the clock
The random barks of a watchful spaniel
(She 'protects' most of the neighborhood)
And my own labors
Mar the stillness.
Suddenly, with a roar and a hiss
The bus arrives, and as quickly departs
Leaving behind two gleeful children
Who race, shouting, to the house.
Exploding through the door
The pummel me with notes
And papers
And all the news of their day
In a mere five minutes
And are gone.
Off to play.
(1985)
Snow, that blessed, cursed fruit of the sky:
Sometimes floating,
Often flailing,
Always frozen.
It covers the land with a mantle of alabaster,
Purity personified.
Lying on the landscape like grandmother's quilt,
Swept into hills and valleys by the whistling wind,
What marvel this myriad collection of flakes: individual
Indistinguishable, woven into a blanket of white
By a power greater than ours
To be rent by man:
The rumbling, clanking plows
The children of all ages
Who become, in its presence
Artists, architects, and engineers.
Impressions (1987)
Quickly, quietly, they fall into place
Shoulder to shoulder they stand
And as they gather their purpose becomes clear
Each brings a special meaning to the group,
Adding to the unique meaning of the whole.
Yet each, alone, is so common, so like the others
That if lost, replacement is immediate.
And still, inexorably, the mass grows,
Shoulder to shoulder, supporting each other
Lending credence to the cause.
The printer reaches for a letter,
Quickly sets it in his composing stick
And reaches for another.
The quiet clicking continues
Until the form is complete,
The type is locked up and inked,
Ready to transfer its message to paper.
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