A Cathedral of Salt

economies of salt
whole villages;
houses and churches -
all purchased with salt

Saline solutions, 800 years old
wood and rope and horses and men;
their own sweat adding to the vast
wealth of salt one drop at a time

a treasure trove of crystals

The salt of the earth;
blood, sweat and tears.
I stand here, salivating,
breathing the salty air.

Pastoral

Layer upon layer of ephemeral depth
illusions of solidity
so the ghosts of clouds,

are set against
an infinite azure
and the silvery light
of the sun.

Below; shade upon shade
of green and shadow pass.
Verdant blur of the grass
as we speed by.

Thin staff of telephone wires;
fences, cattle and farmhouse
squat quiet fields.

This scrapped tractor -
bright primary red;
an industrial stain
on the placid pastoral

like an ugly noise
in the face of a beautiful music.

A stand of thin green trees
each, so proud in its independence.

The shaded wood,
so somber it its solidarity.

From time to time
a church rises
like a whispered prayer
on the horizon

and there:
a field flecked with
tiny yellow flowers.

The train slows
as if to give them
our attention.

"What this needs now," I think
"is a river."

Poem

Babble blather blabber chatter
gibber jabber yap
patter prattle rattle yammer
yada yada
flap !

Saint Vitus

Sun glares through stained glass and
colours gleam and glimmer
deepen the dark of the chapel
and make the shadows dimmer.

A glimpse of what they gleaned
when they made that glint and glitter
like a glossy, glowing honey
that makes all else taste bitter.

The last days of Summer;
sport shorts and tee-shirts
don't remember last night
are wearing faded tans
are eyeing the sweaters
of coming Fall with wariness,
wistfulness, dread ...

The last days of Summer;
insist on one more drink
can't resist one last kiss
are looking for a boyfriend for Winter
are waving goodbye to the beach
don't want to go back to school
are picking out hats and jackets.