The essence of man

The essence of man is in his drive along a dark highway on a summer night, windows down, 68 degree air blowing in from the Atlantic. The hues of the night's crimsonly orange sunset remain in the mind's rearview mirror. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.
The essence of man is in his trip to a Fire Island beach at nighttime, the grains of sand prickling against his feet like cool velvet lining the skin of the coast. The ebb-and-flow sound of the waves coming onto the shore soothes man into a lullabied trance, the stars and the moon become lasting images before eyes are shut.

"Burning Bright"

Burning bright,

Coming from an easterly direction
I alone preside o’er everyone and
Everything with a dignity that is
Surpassing, like my shine over the moon’s,
That which is oft reserved for heads of state.

I, my young friend, am the head of this world,
Overseer of all evil and good.
Blink, and I am gone, only the imprint
Of me, reddish and glowing, still remains.

I cause living beings to grow taller
But in the same I willingly witness
When they are chopped down,
Mercilessly turned
Into a tall house or lonely coffin.

I illuminate the most clouded mind
Of the patient, whose cancer-ridden skin
My beams of light unfortunately caused,
The price I pay by fading in the eve.

But arise new day! Only the blind man
Cannot see me, though he can feel my rays
Billowing down on top of his bare head
Like the protecting shroud of darkness that
Follows loyally in my sleepless wake.

Awake! Poor scribe, Seek the light which you speak!
I am summoning you through your window.
The daylight it burns, and, though I see you,
You have yet to join me in

Burning bright.

The Fall of the Pasta

Cheese, sizzling,
Combines with its aroma
Sauce, wafting
Into my family’s eight
Nostrils, flaring.


Ziti: my mind, reeling
Back to last July
Second day, crying
About the empty chair
That left us longing


For more time
With she we loved.
So we drank beer
And ate where she lived
The ziti that fell from the pan


Into the oven, pre-heated
By Aunt Eileen, grieving,
Trying still to keep us pleased.


The ziti tray falling
Gave us the laughter we needed.

"Terra Firma Latte"

Two rings the shade of cardboard
Encircle each other and form a circumference
That brings people together.


The mocha circle is a footprint
Left by a stranger or a friend
On a coaster, a table, anything with a surface.


The latte drips down the sides of the cup
Like an IV pumping through the veins
Of a patient on life support.


The caffeine attacks the bloodstream
As a bolt of lightning strikes a tree
Standing on its tippy-toes.


The black man with a suit on
Likes his coffee light and sweet
With nonfat milk and an ice cube.


The white woman with the mop and the broom
Likes her Columbian-brewed coffee black
With no sugar. No milk. Bare and bitter.


The beans are ground
The brewing coffee drips
The aroma like a zephyr blows through the building.


And two rings the shade of earth
Surround each other in a binding halo
That brings people together.