A pair of hidden coots in the sedge line driven out by raucous fighter jets. Bubbles alive with memory trail upon the lake top.
Winter What a weird way to experience this. . . Something forgotten : everyone has a right to life. no matter the purpose or value I I stood outside on that cool nightwatching the clouds caught in streams of wind pass me by. seams stretchedby tufted fingers and downy swirlslayering, stackingthe only distinctionsbeing darker…
Tonight the Aspen isclacking in the breeze. It’s very similar to the nails of a raccoonon the branch, shuffling leaves, climbing limbs. I hear it because I listen. Orion’s Belt is robust in the Northern sky. Has the archer beenfattening up for the winter? These dandelion leaves are translucentin the moonlight—like my mindand the river…
Stream of crows, from horizon to horizon, night roost
If You Hear My Name
If you hear my name after an evening autumn rain, it’s because i am cedarwood incense and frog sounds.
Frolic Gentle Observer
A walk through the neighborhood is actually more like frolicking through the neighborhood i stop to watch bees diligent and effortless in their workdozens of them appear from the orange poppiesthen reemerge elsewhere— there’s no telling how manya car door slams and i think how silly or simple i look and i get embarrassed for…
To the Bee
O! to the bee a clover in September : a sacristy
Hands All Over
What border edge is far enough? What wall plenty high? Domesticate. Eradicate. The human race. Highways snake like veins, or a river, or a blade. We carry always with us the guilt of fear. Investment. Property. Economy. Paving the world. . . we’ve got our hands stretched over a dying fire. The state of Washington…
The modern Poet towers over me, standing on piles of words, handheld degrees, like a decree, held tightly against the chest. Why is it that modern poetry makes me feel so small every time I venture to read it? Outside the window, moment after moment, the night sky flashes in a brilliance of lightshow. Bursting…
When robins hunt it’s only a guessing game, an approximation, or so it seems. They scatter about and peck and move. Though there does seem to be some guiding principle. Each one is a sentinel unto himself, and a sentinel for the group. When you watch the robins hunt you always find there to be…