[from sleeplessness to quiet i clutch]
from sleeplessness to quiet i clutch
fragments of soft morning and the grace
of songbirds beckoning all the ones i love
into another dawn, too familiar to us
the only mercy we can ask for
from sleeplessness to quiet i clutch
fragments of soft morning and the grace
of songbirds beckoning all the ones i love
into another dawn, too familiar to us
the only mercy we can ask for
Nothing was moving
I went down to watch the herons
Nesting by the creek
Working my way out
Through the deep scrub, to the point
Silent by the tree
Camo-wrapped I watch
Enraptured as they squonk there
Movement brings me back
His bark is close, mad
Slowly I turn, face-to-face
Furry nemesis
Flicking his big tail
Acorn in paw, leaning out
Tensing to attack
I pull off my mask
He stops, cocks his head, confused
We wait, not moving
Nothing to see here
I turn back to my herons
And he to his lunch
He swings by his toes
Upside-down, crunching his food
Happily humming
Thonk! His prize falls, lost
We look at each other. “Awrrr”
I laugh, he runs away
The moment is gone
Both of us back to our lives
On a warm spring day
Leaf blowerleafblowerleaf
blowerttreegrinder tree grinder tree tree
weed eater weeeeeeed eater tree
lawn mower lawn lawn lawn mow mow mowmow
Stumpgrinder chain saw sawsawsaw
stop! Stop stop stop–Stop!
it’s Sunday
this is the day the lord hath made let us rejoice
be glad
wind chimes wind chimes windchimes
silence hummingbird
robin cardinal yellow finch bluejayblue blue woodpecker
house sparrow house sparrowhousesparrow
coffee maker
dog bark bark bark bark bark. Bark
windchimes chimechimechime chime wind windchimes
wind chime
How the cactus looked,
with root rot,
like a long green leg
slowing pulling
black panty hose up
to cover itself
in death. Our intervention
did nothing but help
it undress. Still.
Hacked into it. Hoped.
We walked together.
sits outside the Loyal before it opens,
Budweiser in hand. The radio in his lap
blares “La Grange.” I nod hello. His eyes
might not be open behind his sunglasses.
Hours later, the bartender scolds his
friend to go home, that he can’t come
back inside. But not that guy. That guy
just leans in his chair.
In two days
that guy walks up York toward the river,
wears a coat too warm for June, but he
doesn’t seem to sweat. That guy, he’s
a legend, a machine. Later that day,
he hangs at the bus stop–real chill–
and slouches down a cheeseburger.
I like the shadows left by leaves on the cement after it rains,
like a whisper of a thought that is lost before it is formed.
The world quiets down, just for a moment,
and everything feels like it could be something
but isn’t yet.
I wonder if the leaves know how they look
against the wet gray of the sidewalk,
if they care that the shadows they leave behind
are just as fleeting as the light they came from.
There’s a softness in how it all fades,
like nothing’s urgent,
like everything can simply pass
without needing to be understood.
It’s the kind of peace that doesn’t ask for anything,
but settles anyway.
Cros-country (serenyu #5)
Lies fall lame as Truth gallops bareback, clearing all fences and ditches.
