(This is a golden shovel haibun — end of each line is pulled from the title word.) http://www.macqueensquinterly.com/MacQ28/Schwartz-Feeling-Used.aspx?fbclid=IwY2xjawKxO1dleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHnjIhNdUtQX0NEr1s6V7zL9R2hjFhgubKLSO7-E9Rx3rTyJTb8QW7II8Eh5o_aem_7xCZ-93nvMikpJXodD2qMw
Restoration
the skiff slips to its rest
the rower ships his oar
on the water / athwart the gunwale, a ray,
his shadow. blown before the setting sun
old paint cracks
webs of song
in common time
She stands to see the sun
illuminate campfire smoke,
sends an incantation to the day,
a prayer for happiness,
a prayer for peace to all.
She stands on the ledge,
arms raised high giving her
a presence, an authority,
an all too-certain rule
over my too-human heart.
Silhouetted as she calls,
I have to see her breasts,
the lines of her body,
bringing memories of night
to my too-human eyes.
(after the 1905 photograph, “Incantation,” by Anne Brigman)
My enthusiasm was dead —Wicked Witch of the East
shriveled-up coiled shoes under the house
landing in Oz style dead!
I tried to stay alert to generate an idea,
but it was hopeless as I was flat out dead on my feet.
It is hard when you are dead tired
to live up fully to commitments.
Even so, I tried to dress up my thoughts to tell a story,
but whatever I wrote was dead in the water.
I hate it when I am dead right about being dead wrong.
there is a virgin forest
a snowfield
even
the print of birds’
feet
is unkown
here we go alone
let us examine roses
On Illness, Virginia Woolf
I call a client
two days before
our date set for install
to say I’m sorry
but your project
is taking longer
won’t be ready
like I told you
two months ago
I’m making progress
but the plan
calls for details
that I can’t
rightfully
rush
please excuse
my excruciating
pace
and trust me
there is worth
in waiting for
hand made
here’s a picture
of the bookcase
unpainted, almost complete
I’ll keep you posted
and hope to see you
in two weeks
Yes sir
yes sir
I know
we had agreed.
Dogs barking,
And barking and barking,
Late at night,
Our dogs.
Why don’t we bring them in,
Making all that noise?
Well, creepy people checking cars to see if they’re locked,
Walking around on private property.
So far, no complaints.
But if there are, we’ll keep the noisemakers inside.
Until then, they get to bark.
But we might ask the complainers,
You wouldn’t be the folks setting off those fireworks,
The ones that scare our dogs,
Keeping them inside for awhile, hiding under the bed?
next to the snow shovel not yet gone
to summer in the garage
seedings in pots on the porch
eagerly turn to the evening sun
thin cry
carried forward
by nothing but need
no arc
but vibration—
a thread pulled
across absence
sound shaped
to resemble presence
no body
but the form
a body would take
if it answered
if it meant
to be heard
the field listens
without echo
the sky
already writing back
in silence
