Poems

Sycamore

Sycamore

The sycamore calendar starts in November,
not with the buds but the building of buds
deep in the sap, with branches ...

Wintering

Wintering

Finally, the winter is willing to chill us.
The heavy quilt uncasketed from the cedar chest.

Its weight presses us all night
Like leaves in a summer camp scrapbook.

It is the season ...

The Flow

The Flow

When the water comes, it brings the mountain
and sings the story of the shifting ridge,
summons green to bloom along its edge.
Shapes the hills with patient excavation.

Water comes and carries ...

Old Habits

Old Habits

I needed to renounce familiar things—
I wasn’t going away, I thought, but towards.
Now, pulled out of black waters,
wet towels draped across my back,
my old home will not hold me anymore ...

Consensus

What if we can’t wake to birdsong and what if

of the weather

we are afraid?

Afraid you will leave me, afraid

I will fail.

Our daughter thinks ...

Pond

Pond

The lazy center 
The lazy center is a green neither
sharp nor fading, reminding

not of before nor after.

Picture the waterweeds have always been ...

A STONE IN MY HAND

A STONE IN MY HAND

In the cave of first birth
the bears gather
move around inside each other
thick with bone and fur
look out with the eyes
of the many

all this I hold in my hand
deep ...

A GIFT FOR TODAY

A GIFT FOR TODAY

How can it be that feathers fly?
They drift in and out of windows,
fall like leaves through the air
and dance to the tune of the wind.

I find them resting in corners
or hiding behind ...

A BLESSING

A BLESSING

Dear Tree--

You are there every morning
when I wake up
you breathe into the night
while I sleep I dream

the wind is a friend you welcome
into a dance wild and free

you refuse no ...

A GOOD DAY

A GOOD DAY

Frog jumps into my throat at night
wakes up with me
in the morning
has to try out a new song

ribet-croak ribet-croak

This frog
isn’t getting ...


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