The basswood hosts a congress of snouts
and does not ask who sent them.
It simply is —
leaf, bark, nectar, frass —
a trembling where wings arrange themselves
into the shape of summer’s next desire.

You don’t need to know
what’s on your mind.
You just need to let it light,
briefly,
in the shade.

                         labor-intensive process          plowed the land  sowed             seed bed, transplanted     shoots                     endless weeding                           topped the blooms                                removed worms           watched the weather                                                                   the whole family        cut the crop bring it to a barn for curing,     then strip     stalks. If weather held     if prices were high bills paid     income saved.     too often the reverse occurred      suffering resulted.                                  a plant that held the state hostage 

A New History of Kentucky
Lowell H. Harrison 1997

The Courtesy of the Blind
                             after Wislawa Symborska

All light has faded from your world
Touch and love of shape now foreground
My hair, my hands, the Peter Rabbit pop-up book  

This contemporary furniture exhibit
Is not open to the third eye of your fingertips
You consent to narration and a wheelchair  

Leaning down, I speak to your faded hearing
I know what you need to know
Sketch the curve of this chair into your palm  

How gorgeous! you cry out
Oh! Oh! when you learn the materials            
The mix of woods, that iron frame juxtaposed!  

You ask the designer and how it was constructed
I reach for anything I can            Linda you say
Thank you, this is fabulous. No one could do this like you.  

Of course Mom, you taught me how to see    

Relationships are like recipes
Only as good as the ingredients
And even then, 
Timing, heart, heat
But also
Mood. 
Some things end up there every day
And some are simply not worth it
You need to eat, 
and so something is there that will do
But some are carefully constructed and planned
And remind you
of what flavor is
and they also nourish you
and make you full
But for all meals, 
one must also understand
How fortunate it is to have had them
and how sweetly life has conspired
to enliven the livers

Like memory | Fractured |even | in my dreams | I can’t believe my good fortune | dreambody | gliding | as if on ice | mutual glances | from opposite | corners | in a smoky room | Good found | in the bathroom’s | flickering fluorescents | 2007 | when white-knuckling | the last crumpled Lincoln | for a while | Scratch-off ticket: | a last chance scrap | in the Speedway store | where the asphalt | wept ethanol rainbows | by the buzzing ice cooler | Copper scent of old pennies | Not a jackpot | exactly the sum | nailed to my apartment | door | bills folding | heavy in my hip pockets | puddle near pump six | you fracture | in my dreams | many mercies | I still don’t trust

Color splashed along the rotted
floorboards of the old porch
as if the coleus plants were
abandoned, left to navigate
on their own, vining instead of bushing
traveling a splintered road.

The plants were huge in an array of
pots of ancient clay and porecelain charm,
some on tall iron plant stands, multi-colored
leaves draped down and curved along the
boards, stems covered, splatter of
raspberry reds, plum purples, lime greens.

The old nun came out in early morning
before Lauds the first liturgical hour and
communal breakfast,
to water and gently removed wilted leaves
that matched her aged hands, her 
feet floating above the carpet of leaves.

She shuffled along the edge, like walking on
water, aluminum pitcher in hand,
dripping sustenance, each plant blessed
humble gesture of grace enshrined
a small piece of heaven.

Only if things would stop happening.
A flurry of appointments, a call,
A matter of money, a walk in on me while
A thought can’t wait to be put down.

I’m staring at the sunset, all is calm.
Raindrops in the puddles, brighter
And brighter still. Then poof,
Down she goes and we are swamped with

The surge of life, the social calls,
The dressing up to look conscious
When I’m not. But why not just say no.
Enough is going on just looking out the window.

Brighter and brighter still now
The hour after the sunball drops.
They say at the end one sees a bright light
But how will you ever if they keep interupting you.

I’m watching again, all is calm
A few minutes at the window
To read a psalm
Rake my last wind row.

 THE BIGAMAGABIG

bigly big bigly big big bi-bi-bi-biggg bigleague bigly bigbeautifulbillbig
bigbeautifulparade fearmakesthewolf biggerthanheisbig bigbig big big
big bigger biggestbigot bigamy bigamistbig bigsized bigger
big BIG big big big big big big big big bigger big big big big
bigbigbigbigbigb igbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbiggggg
bigbeautifulbillionaire big beautifulbillionaires, bigbigbillions
big big big big big bigbigot big big big big big biggest big
big bigly bigly bigly toobigtorig big big big big big big big
bigger biggest magabig magagagagaga bibibibibiggggggg
bigamay bigamy bigmagabig bigamy big big big big big
bigamist big big big big big big big big bigot bigot bigot bigot bigotrybig
big big big big big bigot bigot bigot bigot bigot biggest bigot bigger
big bigot big biggest bigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbigbig

Nothing speaks of death
like Pompeii’s volcanic blast
with no place to hide

a hellish blight of
pyroclastic flow moved fast
enveloping all

a hot scorching end
vaporizing rich and poor
inhaling fire

Plaster filled the voids
of hollow spaces buried
revealing people

this, their legacy
I first saw in my childhood
a life long haunting

Seeing these figures
showing what it is to die
in darkness, alone

And without trying
their consciousness became ours
aware of death coming

Forever caught in
their most intimate moment
taking their last breath

we are who we are
Dancing on a fireball
living on the edge