We laugh.You makecrooked smilesat nine weeksgive or takea day.We meet the morning,enter a flowfamiliarto the newlyborn,in a newtimemeanderfromsleep to sleep,wakefulawakenings.Rest isfuel forthe milestonesyoureach right beforeour eyes:You smileat my smile.We aremirrorspassing in time.Maybe I growyounger asyou grow up.Take my finger.Lead on, babychild,I’m alongfor the ride.Teach meto lovethe shadows of late afternoonleaves again,light beamson a crackedwall, the … Continue reading Delight
Red Wing
Tittercluckit buildsto a sharpsquawklike thebird stuck itstoeinto a liveelectrical outletConk-a-reeeeelthe birder booksays but I can’t makethose fit.They fillthe edgesof the woodsby the stream.Red shouldersblur againsta greeningbackdrop.Perpetualspring mating ritual.Busy chatter:Looky-heeeeer!
Behind the Curve Ahead of Myself
I’m thinking of summermy hands busyin dirt I’d hoped tomake ready weeks ago beforethe cold rains soaked our sleepybeds.Sun makes me thinksunflower, coneflower,blanketflower anda nice tomato ortwo but I’m aheadof myself today,behind the curveresurrecting the wobbly planter,seeding greens,radish,turning compostall things thatcome alongwith a little effort.Meanwhile, Inotice my mindwanders forwardas my body slows.Here again, aheadof myself.Still, … Continue reading Behind the Curve Ahead of Myself
Ground
Each foray nowa little wonderThe brush wepiled last fallheretherea rustlingthen rushrabbit runsto the bank& awayand I no longerafraidof eyes watchingfrom underthe heap offallen ashsit& the log singsa symphonyof beetlesthe sound mayapples makepushing up fromwet earthall breathsquish & gurglegentling melisten
Why I Am
Remember the spooky French Horn theme in Sergei Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf (Op. 67, a “symphonic tale for children”)? The sound of the wolf brought tears to my eyes and so of coursea few years later, I asked to play the horn. “Musician!”, the grown ups proclaimed, and so I was, finding myself lost … Continue reading Why I Am
Sweet Woodruff
Under leaves mulched many inches thickI uncover stepping stones pressed withImprints of our children’s hands, their seaglassand shells foraged on the shores of greatlakes and warm oceans, wherewe crouched and gathered inbaskets long ago when we werelimber and sun-browned, and as yet unbothered by frailtiesto come. Their little hands bringback to life springtimes past, alongwith … Continue reading Sweet Woodruff
After Days of Rain
After days of rain, blue sky.Time to turn the dirtshed the shirt.Draggin’ the wagon, to therhythm of thewren again.This big dig, sunbeam dream is a bow to the bee,her humble bumbledrone, the musicof a morning.Apple blossom dappled kingdom.Robin, worm, lemon balm, thewinds got calmand for one littleminute in aworld so flawedthe peaceof this patchis a … Continue reading After Days of Rain
On The Other Hand
I question the form of my blooming in a slow growth season. It’s not that I don’t seek a little running sap in life anymore, change, another miracle of 3-day resurrection, re-planting in the soil of my circumstances. It’s not that I’m anywhere near worn & worried to the bone, quite the opposite, in fact. … Continue reading On The Other Hand
O Holy Night
We mustn’t laugh. O Holy Night, when year after year the unholy octave looms, then tanks as a warbling soloist, who has only just rushed to the church after setting out soup and Christmas Eve charcuterie, with a long night of wrapping still ahead, straightens her robe smooths her hair, steps forward with the organist … Continue reading O Holy Night
Aquifer (day26)
As brackish water sputters from the ancient well pump, nut brown, then ocher, all the rusted line innards, heaving upwards, defying gravity, grows paler when blue stone opens the way, we celebrate the waters now, pouring clear, hard, clean, unconfined- And so are we this rosy morn, rising to greet the day, moving as we … Continue reading Aquifer (day26)
Early Morning Poems 