Two Poems by Richard Dinges, Jr.

Sun Porch

From behind my panes of glass
I watch rain lash trees
that rush in a stationery race
against the gale. Within my box
of stale air, secure against
the damp and cold, I see
deep gray clouds envelop
a horizon too distant to remember,
feel the weight
of a heavy humid stillness
against my chest. Yet lightening
pierces even glass,
dims sight, and thunder
diminishes the sound
of my own breath, so I cannot hide.
I can wait until the white noise
of rain shatters the roar
into a million tiny pellets,
washes away the rolling echo.
Only my pulse remains
to steady the rhythm of what I see.

Catching Glimpses

At times try to climb
into the back of your own mind.
Fill the tank with gasoline,
click just once more for an even dollar
till It gushes out down the fender,
a breath away from flames.
Where dreams lead between
visions out through the windshield,
drive into an intersection beneath
a red light. A white car
smears across line of sight,
frozen into a brief gasp to glimpse
a wide-eyed face that stares back.
The two lock forever into that moment,
which could have been but wasn't,
because this time your mind is not yet done.
Keep driving down the street
and leap out again later to surprise
you with its own desperate gasps
to live at the edge of your world.

Richard Dinges, Jr.