Real
as a dream
the beetle
shimmering - green
on my upturned palm

With eyes
shut tight I can see
blood beat
& feel
how the living burn

Red ribbons
& a party dress
but night
in her six-year old
refugee eyes

As I swerve
for a siren
the sobering
"clink" of wine bottles
rolling in my trunk

.
.
.

In warm rain
pale pink - almost luminous
mushrooms
soft as infant bottoms
among the rotting leaves

In a sidestreet
storefront
the Muskokas
at sunset
by a man who can paint

Jostled
by noon office crowds
a frail old fellow
is bending
down to tie his shoe

On my personal
Jewish Zen Christian
calendar
every day Pesah
every day Easter