One day, my boss, the banker

named with alarming accuracy

repeating and terrifying patterns

he became aware of – here, there, this, that

tendency. Along the way we mastered

cooking, toad-in-the-hole, usury, fluff,

sing a song of sixpence, iterative truth:

nodding behind old safety in his hood

and the terror of being rumbled, understood.

Love

We look away at the same sky;

a sky that’s always changing.

I fail to make this world benign,

although we see the same sky

and here we are, alone now,

side-by-side with waving trees

and, in a our time, unerring breeze

is dancing down a blinking street,

like dancing thoughts of you.

And so my deepest choice is trust

- to trust the wind and blue sky

and feel the wind there, deep, away

in little spots of sadness, joy,

that slowly will return, repay:

is that not why we’re here and now;

in wind, in time, today?