They say it’s all God
yet science intrudes.
All of which renders me
stupid, considering

the bang so big from
something less than
the dot of this period.
The truth of our

cosmic size revealed
as equal to a moment
in a Mayfly’s dream,
its one-day span the apex

of its year-long life
as a watering nymph.
Picture the farthest light
traveling billions of miles

to the Mayfly’s eyes,
the reflective globes
concealing two human lives’
worth of pain and laughter

and the absolute joy of being.
Eyes through which
you will see into
this one-breath dream–

of us, to the whole of
all that we ever were.
Until the Mayfly shatters
and powders to atoms,

with us and progeny
mere particles of memory
from a darkening planet, adrift,
at the end of epochs;

unless by chance detected
by an Other: some visiting
outlier genius discovering–
yes, we had once been.           SCROLL DOWN


(I wrote this for toddlers. Never got to illustrating it):

I wish I were something
Other than me;
Not a rock or a tree,
Just silly and free.
A thing more than funny,
Okay, cute as a bunny,
But enough of a looney
To make me yell “Whee!”

So what would I be?

Well a cow would be mooing
And a dove would be cooing,
And I know, I know,
An owl would be hooing.
But, gosh, how blah
And very unzippy,
This coo-hooing stuff.

So downright drippy
And boring, not clever.
Like drab little me,
Who’s never, not ever,
Been goofy enough!

So what would I be?
Let’s see:


If I were a mouse
I’d play a bassoon
And wear a red blouse,
Then fly to the moon
In a purple balloon.


If I were a monkey,
A guitar I would strum,
Then ride a blue donkey
And bang a red drum.


If I were a puppy
I’d twirl on a pail,
And bark yip and yuppy
Til I was hiccupy;
Then go for a sail
With a flag on my tail.


If I were a frog
I’d be looking for fun.
I’d spring from the bog
And don a pink vest,
Make friends with a swan
And fly to the west,
To croak a song to the sun.

Then again…

If I were a bunny,
I’d strum a green banjo
And wriggle my nose,
Then slide down a rainbow
Face down on my tummy.
I’d paint myself calico
And smell a red rose,
Then dance to-and-fro
With bells on my toes.

But then…

Oh my!

With all this wishing
For me to be free,
I’d rather be fishing
Than having to choose
Some other to be.


Just maybe
I’ll settle
For silly old me.


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