First Poem

Oh, my descendants: life is strange when

you are still alive.    --Todd Colby, “Last Poem”

Oh, my descendants:

I write to you from the cusp

of a year when everything turned

like a movie in a primitive cave

with a German narrator

like a marketing genius

turned wandering mystic

[ . . . . ]

Oh, my sister:

You’re ok.  You’re human—

a transforming creature

sharpening your gaze

drawing out swords

[ . . . . ]

This year

let your eyes focus

then let them go wild

Eat the air