We pave you over
without thought, squeeze
breath and water from you
rip you open recklessly
poison you, cut you,
clear you, use you

We pray to distant heavens
while our existence
is owed to you,
invisible you, underfoot
our faithful servant
until drought
and monocultures
and heat spins you
into a gray wind-ghost

You are:
elemental galaxy
organic universe
root-veined
gravity-bound
unappreciated home
of plants, insects, arachnids,
moles, voles, worms,
fungi and microbes
a miracle

Your dark webbed empire
sustains all life, all riches;
without you,
a planet dirt-poor

May we fall to our knees
in love, in wonder,
may we learn to pray
to your grandeur before
it is too late.

Scat doesn’t lie.
The birds ate my blueberries.
My dog stole some carrots.
When unraveled, owl poop
reveals the mouse bones;
the structure of past nutrition
made strong in the night sky.  

Neither do poems.
There are entire months where
I sift, sniff, massage, weigh,
and reassemble the bones of other people’s poetry.
What they ate. How they change.
Tracking their traces,
holding them up to the light
to see what shadows get reflected on the wall.  

Mini-maps of entropy, intent,
and just possibly a way forward.

antecedents prescient
on the mind on my way
awash in fluorescent Appalachia
as summer blooms

to know what joys I walk amidst
what pleasure awaits
those who release
from scratched clouds
or living truths
mind weaves roads forward 

It’s June, the beginning of PoMo, the first day
of gardening with the construction noise next door silenced.
I pull weeds, dig some shade plants to share —  
Shade Begonias and Solomon Seal to be exact,
but exact is not my mood out there with the birds
whose names and calls I cannot remember and I am not
in the mood for Merlin to tell me who they are
nor for figuring what I am smelling this morning,
whether magnolia or the last of the catalpa blossoms.
I want only to breathe in bird song, hands in dirt.

Just chucking mismanaged

That July blue-sky
         morning called

Nico sits on barn-red porch step
         crow-black
                  guitar on knee

Throws back her head
          sings Gershwin’s “Summertime”
                    in unadorned voice

After Lucille Clifton
open your eyes to water

Now
    is the time to
Steer
    away from the safe harbors
Position
    green islands with sandy beaches at your back
Crank
    your anchor tightly into its locker
Rest
    your hands lightly on the wheel then
Fill
    your sails with wind to
Fly

Don’t be Stingy with Your Love

Scoop it by handfuls and fling it as far as you can
Letting it shower over everyone and everything.

Collect it in buckets and ladle it in the cups 
Of all who are bone dry and withered.

Carry it in your purse and sneak it in the pockets
Of all who pass with nothing but empty lining.

Scatter it in your garden for birds to carry away to 
All who have no inside place to rest.

Sift it in breakfast biscuits and stir it in supper soup 
To fill the bellies of all who sit at your table.

Smear it like salve in the hands and feet 
Of all who are life-toughened and cracked.

Write it in lyrics and serenade 
All who can’t make their own melody.

Chop it in kindling and light it ablaze for
All who shiver and yearn for warmth.

Plant it like seeds for next season’s harvest to sustain
All who need strength when you are no longer here.

Don’t be stingy with your love
Be oh, so, very generous
Give it until it’s all gone
Because it never really is…you can always make more.

A fresh sweet ripe strawberry, take a big bite.
The sun, watch it rise and set, feel it warm and comfort.
My sweet dog Tara,walk her, it’s what she lives for.
Your Spiritual Heart, reveal it.
With palms together I bow with gratitude
and give thanks for all that life has given me.