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.