Hesitating
mid-step, I turn
& plunk myself down
on a weathered porch step
to review the yard’s calm . . .
Close to the road,
an ornamental plum tree
nods in sleep–branches
heavy with hard green fruit
that will never sweeten
our mouths.
In a moment’s whim,
barn swallows slice the air open—
ecstatic cries–transparent
as rain tumbling
in sunlight. . . .
Beneath my fingertips,
bits of garden grit remind
me that a day’s work
merely leaves off—
like bees drowsing
in lavender.
I think, stillness—
yet, nothing is still.
Sugar ants set the pace—
here to there, there to here—
some carrying possessions.
No
Stars Tonight
A mood
passes over me—
its feathery fingertips
cast a wild spell—
Out here, absurd darkness—
who can tell what’s there?
Nothing’s certain, yet
the danger of what I can’t see
is the bird I want to paint.
Out
of Time
When
twilight passes into the next hour,
my sleepless body doesn’t move, but waits
at the window, watching stars’ distant light
vanish into the sky’s ether . . .
Not one name spoken in shadows where
our ancient tractor stalled years ago,
in the rut that still fills with rain
until summer. . .
Headlights flicker on
and off the road . . .
Horses, in the barn’s darkness, shift
their weight, murmuring agreement,
without any recollection of this
happening the day before.
