While We Sat

the rest of the universe
spun listlessly.
All the animals in the world
slept.
We listened to delicate
classical music.
Drank chamomile tea.  Why
not?
Why anything else?


Composer

He who in front
of a crowd can woo
with baton.
I cannot woo.  It’s
beyond my reason
and vocabulary.

He who can stand
stark, speaking with
canyon image created
by words, a simple
story.

That’s art, really.
A commodity.


A Short Break

Roscoe took a short
break from the rest of his
life Friday morning.  It was
what locals call butt cold.

There he was, filling his
cabin with cigar fumes, puffing
heat into himself,
listening to the same lyric over
and over.

Truth is, I don’t know his story,
don’t know his name.  Roscoe
is just one I gave him.

But taking a break from
solid grey cold, whether figurative,
literal, or both is fine
in my book.

JD DeHart

---