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| jo'b |
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| jo'b |
The trees
Do not object
To being in this dream
Unconcerned
With distances and time
Their roots entwined
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| —jo'b |
The high art of October
Just beyond the door
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| —jo'b |
hooded apparition
the bed still warm
the field strung with dew
awaiting your return
which always only just begins
not ready yet
for the full face of day
savoring this ache
the closest thing to love
I should have suffered more
when we were lonely
on this earth together
just before sunset.
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| jo'b |
 |
| Galaxy Messier 51, the Whirlpool, 31 million lightyears away. Stars are formed in its arms. As seen by the Hubble Telescope. (NASA) |
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| jo'b |
Twang of the long spring
And the screen door's downbeat,
A choir of geese, loud and low
Above the baring crowns,
Mission rocker creaking oak
To hush this weary body down,
Woodshed filled for the dog and me,
So let the fall be done,
Coyotes yipping in the dark,
So let the winter come.
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| jo'b |
Nobody in sight, no road and no structure,
no right angles, no plumb and no level,
just a few flowing lines in fading starlight,
just a soft wind over unbroken horizons,
just you and just me in a continuous present,
no future, no past, immortal for a moment,
our brief eternity.
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| October Moon —jo'b |
We belonged to the moon
and barely survived it
before they taught us
the iron distances of time.
Another winter comes around,
I wonder how you've changed.
Fiction flares in the dark.
I build fire, after fire, after fire.
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| East |
