The Literary Review
Wind
Wind inspires my breath,
a soft breeze followed
by a long exhale,
out here on a hilltop
where wind can reach
into my lungs,
inflate them to fresh
beginnings. I spread
my arms to embrace
what I cannot hold,
close my eyes to the truth
of the sun and hope
one day to sprout wings
to fly above what
I cannot change.
- Richard Dinges, Jr.
Splitting Wood
Each axe swing
and crack of wood,
that separates fibers
that took years to grow,
under a January
sun’s clueless gaze,
raises a question
above how old I have
become raising this axe
and bringing it down
in a methodical muscle
ache, until I ignite
a fire in dark
winter’s night
and ease myself
back into a dark glow.
- Richard Dinges, Jr.
Butterfly
Autumn walks reveal
few bouts of color
in dry brome grass.
A monarch butterfly,
so rare these days,
flutters drunkenly
among dead leaves
sprayed by a cool
dry breeze. It last
furl in this world
that slowly desiccates
whispers a future
secret I cannot
understand. I can
only watch it float
and dip and swirl
until it vanishes
somewhere into
my humid past.
- Richard Dinges, Jr.