Ephemeral Myopic Poet

The most obvious thing one can say 

About his life was that 

 

He spent it mostly doing what 

He was best at—observing closely 

 

How little one actually sees 

Clearly in the course of a day. 

 

 

 

Payback

At last the worst is over 

And done with and everything 

 

In order; in return, 

All we have to do is stop 

 

Expecting nothing 

But the best in turn. 

 

 

 

 

Crowing In Absentia

What if I told you the late 

Afternoon skies were full of fright, 

Full scudding black cawing 

Clouds, the people below slowly 

Turning ashen—what shade 

Of grey would you be 

Decked out in tonight? 

 

 

 

Daily Litany

So that that old 

Orb the sun may sink to his knees 

In the end and share 

 

In our humility, poems are 

Offered in turn—who is it now

That hasn’t a prayer?

 

Unwavering Line Of Defense

What I have made 

Of myself, let others offer 

 

Judgement commensurate 

With the facts— 

 

All I can do in return is what 

I do best—demur.