Pat Nolan

Thin Wings

     I can only hear it	
reading long after midnight 
     a fine white rain

forgotten poppy petals
pressed between the pages 


     Only birds call at
pyracanthus gate	
      and they're always drunk 

light rain late afternoon	
just makes everyone drowsy


     Crumpled up among
the loose ends of a late morning
     my paper self

mist socked landscape bird frolic
sheer sheets of silver tipped rain

     Window open 
autumn moon candle flickers out 
     silk gown off		

happy thought curtain drawn
heaving body's orchid fragrance


     TV on too loud again		
recluse’s soap operas echo
     throughout the neighborhood

I am a portrait in a window
the garden looks on into


     Orange dust of evening 
just before the sun drops
          below the skyline

through the particle haze dance 
joy and marvel of the mind


     Startled quail bound
over a bank of brambles
     at my approach

walnut’s last leaf drops
to the frozen ground


     The infrequent hypnosis
that throws open the curtains
     on a bright goodness

just yesterday
seems so long ago


     Heaven on earth
moments like that
     come and go

squares of sunlight
on the disheveled bed


     Friends urge me to view
the Masters show in Frisco
      I stare out the window	
too long in exile
bamboo in winter mist


     I have become attached
to the heating pad at my back
     fingers stiff cold	

water pours off the roof
a young flowering plum


     Anxious drunk too soon
completely forgot
     who was to come visit

spider down from the shadows
but there isn’t much wine left


     I’d been in the dark
a ray of sun illuminates the spot
     where I left my empty cup

elbow nudged by a shadow 
another one of my small spills


     Heavy hearted	
threw my back out at 
     the thought of why

cold coffee from a chipped cup
morning fog just now lifting


     On the phone 
outside a butterfly settles 
     on a leaf

her voice light
shimmering on thin wings