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Shards of sunlight
ignite the warm smooth lines
profile grace
concentration on the tiny smudgy
screen...arches her head back
on the rest
the clouds close the morning
curtain and the gritty grey
of spring returns
the glass glistens
intermittent wipers sweep
we follow the tail lights
commuter herd
urban streets
everything thumping through
the potholes
concrete and pedestrians
and vagrants young
and old couriers whisking
past like greyhounds
in livery colors
buskers music through
the tinted glass
muted with the rush of
air conditioners sweet
Another blood transfusion
I will watch the news on
the flat screen
we will pick up the meds
at the dispensary
watch her grow thinner
and age
Life is never fair
the seas tax gull and tern
Rain falls heavily
we clear all the lights
into the outbound rush
of night shift
I remember the swims
the low tide moments
my mothers beetle
van...our hair full of
the grace and fragrance
of the ocean
she found the tern
half buried in the sand
we carried it up where
the dunes were
with the plastic shovel
did the proper burial

cornfields and standing
woods rush
as we settle in the dream
lulled by the speed and
passing of our purpose
to the needs
for destiny and truths
shall find us
like dawns brief yawn
and dusk shall bathe
us in her breath
before the day like
we are gone
and then
the sleep of rested
will wash us too
in times resolve
the struggle
freedom divulged


Editing stage: 


forgive me for saying this: I can smell and resent the offensive stench of road kill and exhaust fumes from your mother's beetle bus . . . NO, THAT'S NOT WHAT I'D MEANT TO SAY, LOL. No, I meant to say, you have created a poem that's quite rich in images. Probably the best you have written? This really appeals to me:
"I remember the swims
the low tide moments
my mothers beetle

Nice one. Ali

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