Future Music

When the aliens landed
we weren’t ready.
Despite material mastery
that zipped us to Mars
that took us to the stars,
and nature in miniature
that bound our scars
that stopped all wars,
we weren’t ready
when the aliens landed.

When the weird arrived
we could not hide.
The thousands stored
and vitrified we thought
were safe in stasis
were annihilated.

Autumn or Seventh Heaven

When bareness hits the limbs
and our alluring array is stripped,
the winds tousle, the branches
rustle. Down the sheets tumble
unabashedly
the rain, ecstatic and quick, tripped
off your limber frame
with lightning, thunder, roar and rumble

we were feverish
In icy frigidity gripped.
The days’ decay withdrew
with death falling on our eaves.
Our oaken togetherness