The Fields Between Us

The fecund smell of corn

rides the damp wind

across the sway of fields

whispering the only question

they've learned by heart

Still there?

What we do not to answer.

—with a bow to Eavan Bowland

Worshippers of Oneness

There is room

wild minds

high up in the clouds

to float ahead of sound.

There is room

full hearts

deep in rainy woods

to shine in sobbing leaves.

Water Burning

We tried to make a private world

of solid immediate things

the sand the surf the shimmer of the sky

a blend of earth and light and sea

water beings on a water planet

but before water there were tides of fire

and both our tones flow from the older fountain.

"Poetry should be made of solid and immediate things... which are set on fire by human passion."

—Robinson Jeffers in a letter to Una Call Kuster, c. 1912.

Molten

York County, Maine

Having come to the edge

in the roar and the spray

here where two worlds collide

risking the wind and the rock

we become our desires

molten in the run of the cold dark sea

for the primitive is permanent among us

natural and direct and alive

in this glorious coincidence.

Flowing Backward

Mousam River, Maine.

The salt river runs in reverse with the rising tide

the morning monochrome with fog

so much to see in the partially hidden

so much to hear in a difficult silence

so much to feel when it's real.

Descending

descending into the yellow haze we've flown above

the wing tips down and city rises at the window

how beautiful it must have been     this coast

before the works of man spread like a fungus

how vulgar now seen from the air

the hopeless prostration of the earth

buckled in with strangers in descent

yesterday the flower today the frozen streak

—with a line by Robinson Jeffers

Past and Future

each passing summer more bizarre

living as we are undone between two worlds

Flight

contrails stack across the south

unlike the overburdened world

no matter how much ash

we cast across the sky

the wind will rise again

the rain will lave the air

our sky will clear to blue

Holding On

easy to give in

to the passing of summer

but the sun is still warm

when the rain stops

and the hawk still turns

above us

hear its wild cry

Astronomy

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legs folded on the mountaintop

keep silent with me

where wind never stops

and birds soar below us

next epoch we shall rise wonderfully

eclipse the people we are now

waxed with desire and marked

by the shadows of planets

what is missing is no mystery

galaxies wheel within

Grounded

the field too

begins its next epic

and i am here

in situ

Intermissive

shadows climb the side of the barn

the high broad roof with thunderhead behind

footlit by the lowering sun and center stage

doves sail in with evening on their bellies

joining the gathering chorus

passions in conflict a distant thunder

tin sheets shaken from beyond the next ridge

this is the play of the time of replanting

this strength of feeling this hungering soul

what do we say when we talk about love

you with your lover me with my dream

the melody of your vision

the threnody of mine

in the rain of intermission

Goldenrod Mantra

the ten solidagoes* have started to bloom

as the field revisits its golden age

let's spread an old blanket just over the hill

lie on our backs with our guides and our wine

speaking their names in a language long dead

solidago juncea rugosa odora

let's call down the past and conjure tomorrow

nemoralis altissima elliotii canadensis

let's chant it together solidago solidago solidago

harmonizing with bees in the heat of the sun

let's murmur our summer forever

* ten of the field:

solidago altissima -- tall goldenrod

solidago canadensis --canada goldenrod

solidago elliotii -- elliot's goldenrod

solidago gigantea -- late goldenrod

solidago gramifolia -- lance-leavead goldenrod

solidago juncea -- early goldenrod

solidago nemoralis -- gray goldenrod

solidago odora -- sweet goldenrod

solidago rugosa -- rough-stemmed goldenrod

solidago ulmifolia -- elm-leaved goldenrod

Repair

today i fixed

the broken porch

with an old board

saved from the barn

that fell long ago

when we were young


how could we know

Morning Elemental

morning elemental

it's all here     hidden in mist

how we see it     the possible

volumes of convention dissolve

in one line of poetry

The question is not what we look at but what see.

—Henry David Thoreau, August, 1851

As I Am

day in the leaves

the light and the air

in motion and me

i will not go far

from myself when

evening comes and

i settle into twilight

to be more who i am

deeper in meditation

as i am

deeper in moonlight

Voices

recovering from yesterday

too much time in the city

the antidote today

enveloped by woods

by soft rain by

the gentle voices of care

and quiet wonder

that whisper in the dark

you must change your life

—with a line by Rilke

Beings

field corn in tassel     as it should be

starlight in rainclouds     as it should be

beings in love in each others minds

as it always will be

Monarchs

we are the worm in the dying flower

we are the butterfly

we are the seeds in the pod

float away

Primitive

the sturgeon moon rose as predicted

strengthening the blood tides

primitives howled by their fires

and love flared

Virtual Joy

in a world of illusions

i choose this one

a towering late afternoon

of a quicker cooling

to see my image reflected

in your shining eyes

all the reality i need

to call consciousness a triumph

Too Much Poetry

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too much poetry you say but how else

to tell of this strange and vivid moment

the rattle of a dragonfly's wings

the smoky cries of crows nearly human

long clouds like the beginnings of stories

the look on the face of the pond

when the day is finished how else to say

the swifts are piping in the chimney

and my blood is roaring

i will never believe this is the wrong age

—with lines by Derek Walcott

A Year of Summer

too many astonishments for a man to embrace

one upon the other in life's august field

the fruit and its thorn in the light

the rook and its cry in the night

in a summer that flows for a year

when forever and a day seem right

Corridors

trees line the road that connects us

dreams line the path

And the Dew

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secrets to tell in the morning and the dew

where two worlds touch

what could have been could be

don't go back to sleep

you must say what you really want

—adapted from Rumi

Mountain Tide

to find and know and not to have

is a squandering of time

the days unspooling toward fall

i too sense it coming from afar

the tide of summer in its prime

the lift and pull of what will be

the burning ships of sunset

adrift on our inland sea

In a Field

i stop in a field      wipe my brow with my cap

still morning      no thunderheads      but a vulture

sailing low for what i also sense

nothing wasted in a cycle lacking solvents and crypts

reassured by the natural order of things

which will prevail always if not at first

 raise a fist      seeking reasons to be brave

lying back      finding a few

in a depth of sunlight and living

Waiting

the woods are patient and steadfast

waiting to ease my morning disappointments

to calm my midnight fears

the trees gather 'round

old friends as strong and steady

as ancestors as siblings as children in their prime

my family the woods my requited love

on the day you notice i've taken my leave

you'll know where to find me.