The Gate

A young couple giggle like teens
as they stumble toward their guest house.
Muffled laughter escapes as they recount
how close they came to being locked out.
They were told the imposing black wrought
iron gate would close at a specified time; no re-entry
until morning. They had sprinted through a diminishing
opening, hearing the locks click behind them.

A man dressed in black walks slowly past the imposing
black wrought iron gate. Carefully he analyzes the
twists and turns, the swirls of the ornate metal leaves,
looking for any weakness. Looking for access when the family
is away and the house might be left unguarded.

As the paint dries a tradesman takes the opportunity
to admire his work. The imposing black wrought iron gate
has been restored to its former beauty. As he takes in
the size and artistry before him, he imagines who may have
passed through the opening in the gate’s glory days.

Momentum

A golf club,
I thought forgotten in the grass,
moved,
stopping me in my tracks.

A desert mistress appeared silently,
a flicker of light glinting off her scaly back.
She lay basking in the long, green golf course grass,
hidden off the fertilized fairway,
near a perfectly groomed sand trap.

My approach interrupted
her warm, sunny toasting reverie.
Momentarily our two worlds merged,
each assessing the other.

She had a strange beauty,
my curiosity piqued.
Dusty gray-brown skin hosted
mingling stripes, evolving to a distinctive
diamond shape marking, that ended with
a tail rattle held high.

She did not hiss or flick her rattle;
did not coil to strike.
She slithered and wound away,
slowly disappearing,
desert sand camouflage completely
absorbing her patterned body.

Tiny vibrations
were left in her wake,
flickering at my heart.

Pond

pond

A restless energy
prowls through my being

pacing, nudging
looking for answers.

Old behaviours
that pacified unease before

now only add
to restlessness.

Winds of change
disturb pond

the surface ripples
and distorts reflection.

Light is absorbed
not reflected.

Under the rippling surface
energy gathers

twin to restless energy
pacing on shore.

Static air has hairs on end
in this tense, waiting energy.