Happy Hour

Happy Hour was days ago,

         that bottle of rye is empty.

All the glasses are clean,

         the ice long gone.

Then you smile,

         and I am drunk again.

The Watching Earth

The watching earth

releases words,

mouthed by a corpse,

telling of the Far-Away

where no door,

bolted and locked,

shuts out
foggy truth.

From a Harbor of Pleasant Aspect

From a harbor of pleasant aspect

         exploration began,

a search for an end of horizons.

Decades with spice and tales of exotic sex

         return with a tide

flowing with fragile secrets.

Such thoughts hung in a dark vault,

         together with journeys,
Far from the weight of noon sun.