Sometimes they come from I know not where.

*****

the wind tree

on various out of the way
locales round the world
they hide — like the one
high on a hill near my home

i call it the wind tree
but it might
have other  names
long forgotten

i like to climb
right up on it &
let myself hang

i go to hear it sing

some say this is where
the wind begins
i believe here, it ends
after racing the sun

you are often
at the wind tree
or in it, or around

you use my visits
to play melodies
upon the bridge
that is my bones

some days i go
 to the wind tree
& some days,
     the wind tree,
           comes to me

BONUS POEM: April 21, 2018

For a few days, living a London idyll. 

*****

soundproofing

the creaks
I don’t know
still startle

strange birdcries
strangle silence

pigeonwing applause

helicopters dance
every dawn

subterranean
tummy rumbles

halfheard whispers

conversation detritus

strangers footfalls
creaking up my stairs

opening doors
slamming doors
in rooms
with no doors

a woman washing dishes
in my cupboards

kids voices call
through windows
but not mine

all this life
lived underneath
next door’s buttons