White Light

In a white rope hammock
Strung between two trees
In my yard in afternoons

I lay nodding motionless
On the webbing like a spider
That await its prey

Stillness is my blanket
And quiet is my pillow as
I dream in cooling shade

          Cool Ashes

In mornings that are mostly gray
Clouds crowd the horizons
And cluster and congregate
In tight formations across the sky

Like poured cement they blanket
The blue brightness of summer
With concrete thickness that
Pancakes across the sunrise

Until cracks form where light
Grows and graduates to patches
As dullness buckles and heaves
And sinks slow below the horizon

      Philosophical Gray

There was a time I would have cared
As the white in my hair multiplies
Like protozoa in a test tube in what
Seems to be reproduction by fission

Each season that passes leaves me
With more salt than pepper and a bald
Spot that grows like a dust bowl desert
Moving slowly across my scalp

And if I had time to care I would be
Somewhat concerned at a changing
Physiognomy that is transforming me
From my father to my grandfather