Niagara

A boy’s kite sails
across the river,
its string becomes cord,
swells to cable
which sprouts a bridge.

A locomotive shuttles,
iron upon iron,
over the roaring tumult
soon to tumble as rain
for three seconds.

The train moves on.
The flood becomes ocean.
The boy grows old.
Cry for him

if you’ve time.

Another Reason I’m Not A Concert Pianist

You sweated for years,
a serf on a manor,
tilled fields with oxen
and a wooden plow.

Marriage and children,
summer and snow,
tithe and obeisance,
shovel and dirt.

The plague swept through
and you survived.
It came again,
you didn’t.

Carried from you to me,
one single thread:
the gene that makes my index fingers
bend away from each other

at the knuckle.

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A web page with interesting facts about: genetics and family tree

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 7,500 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 13 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Machine

The day falls
and breaks open,
shows its inner workings
of cogs and wheels.

Tiny craftsmen swarm out
from the mainspring,
scurry to resurrect the loss
but I walk on, doubtful
of their success.

Jeweled mechanical toys
inlaid in cloissone enamel
lay broken by the millions,
over countless hillsides,
sprinkled with the skeletons
of little men
who tried to make them work
beyond their time.

In childhood the magical motions
are unexpected joys.
By old age they are rote
machines of assembly line
manufacture.

Set the last one down
and be rid of the damn
scampering fool.