Search Engine

Google has us frozen

Inside an eternal summer

Where shadows are fixed

Caught in a looping noon

Where our cursor stalks ghosts

Following the red minivan

Unintentionally caught

By all of us who watch

With the strangest interest

For nothing to happen.

Its license plate blurred

Until that uncaptured turn

Out of noon, onto another street.


You pass me by with your cursor 

I am here in the garden

Walking to the store, riding my bike

It’s warm today

But then, it’s always warm here.

I am all you’ve detected

Everything you’ve made me into

As part of your search

My face blurred

I am anyone and everyone

Busy with sun and shadow

I’m where you think I should be

I’m who you think I should be

Until you move your curser

Further from my street

Where noon will lose me







On the edge, wind plays with the stream. Its spatter freezing onto trees, who look weak, vulnerable, bent by the extra weight.

On the edge, where the stream freezes, falling is continual, falling is a cycle. Roots are lost.

On the edge, exposed, the sun isn’t always warm. It’s fickle, flirting with the cold, funneled winds. Relentless, always cycling.

On the edge, spring holds no promise. Pockets of ice remain. Trees are cautious, curving into an array of uniqueness.

On the edge, strength takes new forms, evolves into a balance. Depth is an art never grown in easy soil.