What Do We Owe

What do we owe
When the grass no more grows
When the sheeps bleat for peace
In their luminous fleece

What do we owe
The brazen oxbow
The ritual of sound
That bubbles in the ground

What do we owe
To her or to she
But for the laughter, the glee,
The wonder to be

What do we owe
The earth or the sea
Its violent beauty
Its quiet dignity

What do we owe
Each blessed day
Each casual breath
Each reactive detest

What do we owe
For the cries that we sow
In those eyes that just glow
What do we owe

Terracotta Terraces

My age is of no import
just the sea and these rays
to love is to distort

The breeze has shaken me
to a path of red dust
that billows when set free

Nights are enclosed
where a mat of stars
nudges my upgazing nose

Structure crumbles
like wet sand trampled
time itself wilts and tumbles

I am all I was but now
liberated of rails
it’s just me and the clouds somehow