Category: poetry
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Omens VI
I woke like i had come out the dark and i saw five dead bees around my shoes. We had closed them in, and they had crawled — on terribly weak legs — upwards through the walls and into my room to die by my bed below a closed window.
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Reconstruction
It has been over a year now and I still wait for my shattered driveway to reconstitute and lead visitors past the pond-rocks, to where woolflowers tower proudly, contained in a pot. Some have tread quietly to the side door, mounting soft mounds of moss to tap with a fingernail on the dusty yellow glass,…
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Solstice Fire (WIP)
The last campfire was beside Lake Geneva, and the night was clear for it but I cannot recall if there were stars. I recall the tears and the dock, the tone and length of the argument, the distant conversation, a light suspended in the washing dark, a boat drifting, windows, the flat glow of a…
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Water Green
A spot where dirtand cool water stir. Reeds spiral up,only to thin and grow old –bird-wings that flash gold,a whip to strike breeze aside. Water lies clean with eel grassunder the surfacestill as moss,if moss wereto boil when it rainedor cloud itselfwhen a fish flew by. Watching from afar,it is tempting to toss a sharp…
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Perenniality
I keep the yard,barbed fence surrounds a black patch –dirt, carefully prepared. I hold my hand on the trowelwatch over the churned earthand keep,then a green shoot. Stars and circles of blue-gold flesh,colors scintillating on the petal, cerulean and gunmetal.In the pistil a light sprays,burns furious for a time,fades, gutters out to die.I keep the…
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Pitch
Water-rind –wrinkled film, plastic-like. A sunfish flier surfaces sideways and stays,heaving atop the slick. The sun beats but no fincan crack a pondso dark the light comes back.
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Smoky Mountain Meadow
After it all:lonely months, moments of near-clarity,the ordering of hours in a line;desperate musicswallowed by echoless walls;outside, a cardinaltapping the window – After it all,you and I will play checkerswith bright gold piecesthat tumble to the dirt.
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Axis Mundi
(i suddenly feel as ifi am barely held against the earthas if i might be liftedto be held against clouds) I will not be sorry for feeling nothing,for being empty of color, for being stone – (i am a sheet of shining fabric,gale-rushed and expanded,unfolded by a wind of seeds) Roots split my skin:inside, a…
Words Under Construction 