before first frost
when elves still dance,
and I have touched 

10,000 more, 
and so, I guess, 
the need for grace

With Fifi, Christine, and Bitsy Bits, 
He played the game:
Paddywhack, bunny kick, and nip . . . 
My little piece of  

black velvet magic
like Puss in Boots
foot upon ogre 

take care
with how you rub dizzy
silver iridescence
into spurts 
of violent smoke

city, sand, 
or jungle . . . 
genie’s bottle . . .
do not draw too close
to the explosion

*from Proverbs 23:3

snOw
snow
NO

Time’s not the footprints, so fragile,
they can’t survive the following tide.
It’s the promise even in the dying stem,
the curled up, rotting petals.

Along the beach, kids build castles
no one lives in, adults tan skin that’s soon to fade.
The garden goes about time’s business.
Its roots can’t help themselves.

from contemplative AI to consuming lobsters

breathe in breathe outsourcing the hexagon