the odds

every egg in this carton

is a twin

                                                how strange

two yolks

nestled

within every shell

these days

who knows the decorum

superstition

or suspicion

a wink from the cosmos

or the fingerprints

of meddlesome corporate scientists

no wonder the people have lost where to put their awe

every day I returned

to the fridge

                                            surely today will be the day

                                            the facade cracks

                                            the pattern breaks

but each new shell fractured --

twin yolks

clinging inseparable

inconvenient defiant

                                            where now, your awe?

private audience

I laughed at something you said once

only the cottonwoods witnessed

my smile into silence

I made eye contact with their fluttering leaves

and we nodded in agreement

when I die those trees will still stand

and would be pleased to tell the joke

if someone only knew to ask

but these are the moments that cease 

and fade

and none but me and the cottonwoods

will ever know

the good pleasure

of that afternoon and your words in my head and

my smile on the wind and

the mirth of that private audience to

the joy you once gave me