Sometimes I have
the gift of prose
You must wish I had
the gift of poetry

clear stars
clear venus
and very bright
partly cloudy sunrise

as we climb the ruins
of ancient wars
that never went
the way the generals planned

joy is in the air
in the voices
of friends
I only met today

no matter what I do
or don't do
the earth keeps spinning
under the sun

why is that so?  I ask
my soul knows
a lot more
than it lets on

the grey colors
the flame that runs cold
the dry ocean
the caves that are mountains

painting with words
is a funny habit
but don't you wish I had
the gift of poetry.