New June

  

Did you get what you want

at last, convinced all that

was fiction at best,

madness perhaps, at least

a selective contagion, virulent

to the maimed and the quick,

fatal to the rocket-propelled?

Blessed be the bi-polar,

their heaven is upon us.

Do you pretend you are

not molten at the core?

Drinking from the Spring

19th century water source

  

To drink from the spring they

drank from when their walls

were stacked trunks to die

in winter with snow blowing

through the broken window

to stop the blood of flowers

to untangle harmony

to look back, to look back

to clear the field and plow

to the edge of the forest

to write in a pure language

of stone and ash and silt

to read in candlelight

to lie down in wild asters

to drink shadows.

—with lines and form after Tomaz Salamun

Dark Iris

worth a click

Enchant me then

dark iris

I dare to touch

 disturb the rain

the order of your cells

the swivel of the universe.

Feels Like Summer in the Country

  

Country people raked their gardens,

pleased to be doing so at nine p.m.,

and that the rain had held off,

'though they could hear the train whistle

in the valley and see the maple leaves

turning over in the easy, weighted breeze,

sweet with locust blooms, and many

said they'd seldom seen the like, and

knew that rain was coming in the night,

and thought the best of their neighbors.

   

Eden

water iris

   

We disconnect

and the yard becomes

an enchanted place

free of distraction

in full immersion

swept up by the power

of cycles of fire

the attraction of bodies

the spinning air

the flashing light

the water that falls

on everything we see and feel.

Fingers and toes deep

in the living earth we

take nothing for granted.

The Tribes

  

What could be more primitive

than family 'round the fire

listening to owls and

wondering at stars?

What could be more true

to who we are and just how far

we've come, which isn't far?

Amphibious Artisans

click to enlarge.

In two worlds

not so different

from our own

feet in mud

coming up

for air

golden eyed pro

creators bellowing

the dreamsongs

of existence.

At the Edge

    

of the forest

in the doved morning

his shadow floated long over the frost

his breath unfurled before him

he listened to the crows slamming in the valley shade

he felt the certainty of distance and of time

birds webbed the rising air

and beyond the silent jets somewhereing

the sky blued deep.

Close to Sundown

Close to sundown

the rain easing

i gather strength

at the bottom

of the hillside

shorten my stride

and keep going

because i know

that's all there is

and up to me

close to sundown.

Memorial

Please click to expand

Back to wool today

in softer, stranger weather,

back to overwhelming love

for which we have no better word

except to call it intellect,

accept it and its danger.