by Andrew Hoyem

Start your engine.
Get set, go.
Push on the accelerator.
Step on the brakes.
Slow to a stop.
Get out of the contraption.
Crawl to destination.

Start your engine.
Idle a while.
Smell the fumes.
Pretend you are driving.
Imagine going someplace.
Turn off the motor.
Just sit there.

Start your engine.
Rev it up.
Put it in reverse.
Back it up.
Look in the rear – view mirror.
Return to point of origin.
Become a child again.

Start your engine,
Your heart, that is,
From the womb.
Begin to breathe at birth.
Be the body a vehicle;
Mind, the driver.
Fuel, combust, exhaust.

by Andrew Hoyem

On a summer morn in southern France,
Toward the end of June when flowers fade
From two months’ brilliance in rising heat,
A guest sits resting, looks out over
Villages, vineyards, hills, mountains,
Seeing birds and insects in a dance:
Bees pull pollen that honey be made;
Swallows swoop arcs, buzzing bugs to eat.
One elder sits, looking out over
An artful garden, with pools, fountains,
Falls, sprinklers spraying soil of Provence,
Dry land for farming grapes. In the shade
Of exotic trees, well – watered, is a seat.
An alien sits, looking out over
Follies from foreign places with stains
Of age, stone cut by Mayans, by chance,
By Romans, broken by dolts, afraid
That graven rocks hold power. At their feet
A senior sits, looking out over
Sites of ancient ruins, tracks for trains
To Paris, roads to Rome, in distance.
Quiet, not silent, soft serenade
Is heard afar, cattle low, sheep bleat.
This poet sits, looking out over
An amazing maze; a grotto contains
Seven concrete dwarves in blissful trance;
Just east, a little Japanese glade.
By the chateau, under arbor neat,
Someone sits resting, looks out over
The globe. A crystal orb flashing planes
Revolves in space. All amenities,
Cabinets of curiosities,
Inert artifacts are housed here, while
Outside is nature constrained by style.

by Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore

They trail their hands in the water
Their feet hit the cold hard ground
Their faces light up dark corners
Their eyes are wet with light
They move with a deep resilience
They fall into shadows and out again
People who meet them are amazed
They do nothing to attract attention
Their mode is invisibility
I’ve seen one or two of them close up
As in all of us most of them is hidden
As in all of us they dwell in sweetness
When a light in the dark is ignited
A spinning takes place like earth’s orbit

by Daniel Abdal-Hayy Moore

Laughing Buddha sits down with Weeping
Sufi and they sing a song together

that sets fire to the furniture and makes the
river run backwards for a moment while its

fish inside change scales and close their
eyes for the first time in their lives

Hands move across a chessboard but no pieces move
Hair flies up in a breeze and comes down exactly where it
began each strand in place again and
ready for the next revelation

Their eyes lock in an embrace that shivers the coat rack of its
coats that fall in a disarrayed heap with all their
arms out straight as if in surrender or in
imitation of the cross

Laughing Buddha stops laughing for a
moment long enough for Weeping Sufi to
wipe his eyes and the

flock of geese overhead to check their
inner compasses and redirect their flight home