at first glance
you appear blind
but this is soot in your eyes
or more specifically
soot in the feathers
around your eyes
the how of your home invasion
interests me less than the what
of your search
i have been told
you build mud houses
in the chimneys of
other’s houses
(mine also mud, of a sort)
without regard
to updrafts of hot air
or safe escape
rejoice!
you allow me to release you
to cloudy skies
you shit on my hand
in parting
which is probably
the most common
way to say goodbye
to a savior
Tag: writing
waiting (20210429)
we will wait
for the apple blossoms
to swell, pregnant and fat
and will not tire of
apple picking time
when that time has come
at last
there will be a time for pie
and even piemaggedon
will not slake my thirst
and when the last ones fall
the bruised
and insect ruined
the deer will feast
and thank us
with little piles
of presents
tide and time and fire (20210428)
the log on the sea
doesn’t remember the axe
but it knows the bitter cut
of icy salt water
the salty sea
buoys the log
and doesn’t know the petals
of flame within the wood
waiting to be released
at high tide
there is little chance to
to wash ashore
at low tide
it will be swept out
among the seals
and the gulls
maybe
another beach
haiku of exhaustion (20210427)
how can this month drag
with only thirty days
these poems need to end
unity (20210426)
the bird considers the
worm
song
dew
grass
looks through the pane
of glass
me
this is an animal
and it doesn’t understand
that we are separated
by a window
i do not understand
that we are not
separate
goodbye message (20210425)
the retreating deer
leaves broken hearts
printed in the mud
unintentional potentiality (20210424)
i reach for words
or maybe just one word
fish around in unmarked boxes
with unknown distributions of letters
potentially making meaning
out of a collection of probabilities
tiles inscribed with ancient symbols
glyphs flickering to life
on glass
fading on paper
but who can own a word
or a meaning
who can mint that coin
that currency of grey matter
and say
–this is new!–
who the hell even wants newness
today the slugs taught me
when they pull in their heads
you can’t tell if they are arriving
or departing
here endeth the lesson
what i saw in town during an evening walk near the water, but not too near as the tide was coming in (20210423)
horizontal haze
mountain obscurity
chopped waters
winds chiming
chained daisies and
freshly minted bunnies
bandages required (20210422)
blood
has memory
–i am told–
and holds on to old grudges
remembers the exact
temperature to begin boiling
–but has a few tricks
to lower the mercury–
rushes to the head
for the wrong reasons
thickens at the wrong time
turns poisonous and icy
and yet
still flows from every wound
the same color
the smallest
sharpest cuts
bleed the reddest
leave the thinnest scars
epitaph (20210421)
dead thing under the pier
i would mourn your passing
if you would identify yourself
you resemble an alligator
(but if so, you are far from home)
or some small, desiccated
formerly scaled dinosaur
washed up on the beach
luring my dogs under
the boardwalk
to roll in you
you are missed
ancient, stinking friend
and we are not so much
separated by millions of years
of evolution
as we are by a length of leash
and two lungs full
of salt water
