Grand Canal

that morning the 
north end of 
the adriatic sea,

looked like a
scene from a 
monster movie, 
after the crowd 
ran away.

venice started 
out that way, 
a barbarian army 
at the edge 
of a swamp. 

nothing much 
has changed


an awful mist 
hung over
the grand canal,

as we looked 
toward a modern 
art museum.

maybe it excited
her to support men
who might some 
day be known 
as greats.

you never know.

a carpenter 
might become 
a fisherman;

a slave might 
become a 
famous sculptor,
a plowman, a poet.


and we had faith
that sunshine
would come back.

Ancient Doorways

through those
ancient doorways

ancestral feet 
wandered in 
through those 
doors, and out.


masons built
such solid walls,

brick and mortar
last so long.

nothing is
forever, it is said.

two thousand years
those bricks 
held strong;

there's little
left of the old town;
the doorways now
are falling down.


through those
ancient doorways

ancestral feet 
wandered in 
through those 
doors, and out.



Wild South Hill

   we watch the
weather roll
      over this hill;

we see mists 
   slide down 
      towards us,

      sometimes
bringing snow.

we run a tab
with nature,
      fools if we 
   forget this.

   when we are 
least prepared, 
      perhaps; it 
will come due.

   mists and clouds
      obscure the
hilltop in autumn.

snow, in winter
   reminds us
we don't go
      up these
hills so well.

these are our
   autumn days.
   it isn't over;
      the view is
fine, from here.