Marathon

Cherish and fear our memories
of the dry places, the ancient
circle of tan sand encompassed
by sheer stone cliffs:
God-hewn arenas wherein
we wore bronze helmets
bearing the faces of Zeus,
of Ares, of long-dead men.
The sun was new there and then,
relentless; the sky,
a piercing Hellenic blue.

The Lamb and the Coyote

Lame me and tie me to a stake
on the larkspur-dotted meadow by the lake.

He will come for me then, you will see.
While I am still safe, a howl among trees.

Quietude will tell you the end is near.
Will your little girl cry for me? Fear

ripples through on a draft. You will both
huddle closer to the fire and pray.

I will scream the signal, not die like a moth.
I can still be of use. I will help keep you safe.

Avian

You turn your head at a kind word
an encouragement from two doors down.

You look back as would a bird
at a bit of foil or string.

You make for your heart
a nest of these things.

When the wind blows,
you know where you found each;

You clutch them in clenched jaw,
muscles hard as the pit of a peach.