A poet,

 lost in words, sits on a train’s

deluded rails that seem to converge

like wrinkles on his hands and face

 - before and back - through time and space.

Avoiding headlines

but chasing a hunt

for every letter

 - like sperm - in word - and sound.

Riding rails,

narrow minded,

cliché trip

up a track:

wondering and gazing,

secretly alive

One morning, lost, he

sits exhausted in an airport
hoping for a pretty sky;
hearing words from nations’ update,
jumble into purple sky.

Every word intends connection
- hopeful – casting line and fly.
Once outspoken, lost in motion,
kisses in a pretty sky.

Yes

When the world's abundant

I pick the flower, yes.

When the world’s connected,

I reach for a handshake, yes.

When the world is loving,

I hug the answer yes.

When the world’s deciding,

I bet the answer yes.

When the world is dawning,

look up, the answer’s yes.

When the world is learning,

sorry, the answer’s yes.

When the world is teasing,

yes, the answer’s yes.