Yield

Two roads converged on an arid hill.
White van yields, rightly so.
Off-white minivan--whose owners have
No better thing to do than drive
Well under 35 mph--this
Entity doth yield as well,
Though the sign stands upon their left.
Then, two full seconds once elapsed, the
Off-white minivan oozes ahead
And the man in the other van and I
Exchange the understood facepalm.

The Vista

You hold on to the vista they'd
Donate to the second-hand store
What's trash or treasure?  Are
Crocuses invisible in the snow?
(They say it won't stick)
Two inches today and negative
Two inches yesterday
Rain on black trees on chalk
White sky
Internet videos make an official
Preamble, but the train is your
Serenade--do they hear it?
You and I and we don't understand
We measure brains and IQ's and expect
They reflect the same
We nominate speakers of our house
And tell them to explain
It's just another way to take a nap
Live time-lapse videos of the past
Exasperation and old inspiration
Left in a messenger bag
(I won't mind if you add
Two extra lines
Just please rewind the track).

Their Eyes

Without graphs, picture-screens

And grandiloquence

To Them, what an empty foray

The morning sky presents

Soliloquy

He fell silent; it was unlike him.  His mind was not so easily derailed from its raw, relentless train of ideas that seemed each to announce a mood or set of thoughts following up the others, one after another, until verbally expressed.  Though this too, was not garrulousness, because he did not talk.  He spoke.  And in so speaking, it was made clear, logical, that all said was said by necessity, or in the spirit of necessity.

But he did not speak now.

His head sunken upon his chest, an ageless stare eclipsed his face—it looked a portrait of remembered grief, only half-subdued by a decisive jaw.  None of the other things mattered now—maybe he knew that, too.  I certainly did not see them.  That is, I saw them so distinctly they almost overwhelmed and obscured the reality, that silent soliloquy of his stare.  But as objects so close to our eyes are blurred past recognition, so did it all become irrelevant, and I saw the noble entirety that was left when these things were gone.

Starry Night

© Siggi Churchill

Above the sphere's unrestful sleep

Whose secrets were too great to keep

And seared with pearly midnight's stars

It wounded the sky in ruthless deep