Before the Flood

My hands are overstuffed
Mickey Mouse gloves -
numb and enormous.
Paralytic poison
seeps from the seams,
stitching tingling tendrils
up my forearms
as I roll onto my back.

The door to sleep creaks shut.

Everyday awareness infiltrates
my sanctuary, 
reminding me with the dull ache
of blood starved limbs
engorged once again.  

Spirit becomes matter.

Something scurries away,
slipping into the murky world
I've left behind,
where my overstuffed white gloves 
now lay in wait. 

The Morning After

Sunlights paper-thin orange leaves-
flaming Japanese lamps.
Dappled Monet droplets-
sprayed lemon juice
onto the ocher desert floor.

A mourning dove descends,
a flurry of silver before 
it regains its regal composure
atop the coyote fence.

Dog's upturned nose
robs the wind of its scent
and the distant hills burn red,
leaving in their wake jagged charcoal tips.