Nobody knows
the plight of another
the ups, the downs,
the path of our brother.
Nobody knows
the reason he does
the things that he does
that seem without cause.
Nobody knows
yet everyone judges
we’re quick to convict
and hold lasting grudges
Yet somebody knows
all the facts and suppose
that if we knew them too
we’d feel pretty darn blue
at our part in his execution.
your eyes when you wear your favorite sweater
are like
that great picture we saw,
remember?
lace-like macro
with morning’s dew or
afternoon’s late rain;
clinging dollops made large by the extremity of
the close up;
are like
the still lake across the street
its surface covered
with velvet that
somehow reflects the sunset
flipping the bright
to deep forest hues;
are like
a corn field before the cobs come
endless ocean
winds causing waves
and children running through
emerging with hair and clothes frosted with
the color of your eyes
when you wear your favorite
sweater
