4/365: quantum

I sit on my deck in the post-storm morning air
and I find that all possible futures are open
and laid before me, so long as I sip my coffee
and do not rush into any of them.

the longest ones are perhaps the most frightening
as the odds of loneliness pile up
like diapers and jars of applesauce.

some end with friends and family
in a warm place,
but one cannot hope for too much simplicity,
too much easy happiness, because
these are roads that end in dull eulogies
and flowers
and indifference.

I recognize by quantum logic
(which I do not understand)
that all of these things will come to pass,
and they will all belong to me,
if only "me" were a singular being.

101/365: fig

the fig is jealously holding on
to its leaves
even as the other trees bare themselves
for winter's purification.

soon enough
the branches will be Stoic
and gray -
a bundle of knotted sticks:

unperturbed by loss,
indifferent to sun and cloud,
the fruit of next year's crop
deep beneath the ground.

100/365: very large hands

the very large hands
are below the waterline -
this is the ocean -
dark blue brine of the cold shores -
shores so far from your feet.

the very large hands
are there
just below the surface
waiting.
waiting as very large hands are wont
to wait
below the waterline.