December 16

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poetry

a long drive
on a short winter day

land masses stayed
by bridge after bridge

the on ramps airy
and undulatory

and backlit
by a low blinding sun

the waterways also
meandering

but with less precision
a few straggling salmon

follow gradients from the bay
up into creeks

still swollen from rain
and redefining their banks

an eagle roosts
by the end of the freeway

in flight all these
bisecting paths

are rendered flat
as branches,

as cursive,
unintelligible tracts

for a being with no need,
no concept of fixed routes

December 15

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poetry

this house sleeps,
dreams in the wild

night alchemy
the tree tops dissolve

the sky a soft black
no stars, the moon

frost on bone,
these windows become

mirrors, impressions,
blurry domesticity,

low incandescence,
what passes outside

passes unknown—
until a coyote trips

the floodlight
ambling an arm’s reach

from the house
betrayed by motion

he continues in motion
brindled black, dog sure—

by day the hares
and towhees freeze

when they sense
eyes upon them—

but these nights
have long teeth

befitting the fearless
and the fearsome

December 10

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poetry

Winter is here now
armoring the trees

with small blades
of frost

the silence absolute
the fog emphatic

the Douglas squirrel
traversing the birch branch

seems unnatural
the hours pass dreamlike

with an elasticity of time
there is hardly any snow

no horizon at all
the sky low and matte

the inside of an eggshell
and here we wait

July 26

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poetry

High summer
the currents

long romances
etching the bay

a breeze
from an open window

the mosquito netting sways
how tangible, how solid

a day can be
anchored in memory

slipping into archetype
a seagull descends

from the tallest pine
a long long descent

crisp and white
as the ferry’s wake

across deep water
the bay stretching on

as far as the horizon
blue soporific

the day expands
demands expansion

the tide goes on
and out

March 27

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poetry

This weird spring light
that fills the house with green

bright through the curtains
the lashings of rain

the day surges
then cedes

a thrush sings
its cool low call

the mist comes down
into the pines

behind the woodshed
the forest behind us

growing shadowed
and deep

somewhere out there
the newly woken bear

is making its way
along the edge of a dream

February 11

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poetry

The bobcats came in close
at dusk

as the rain ebbed
three, one following one

after the other
like easy conversation

wild around the eyes
unhurried, unworldly

and for one single moment
joy

December 14

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poetry

Cuetlaxochitl
when not blighted

or root-bound
you are a lanky thing

almost unrecognizable
when green

we know you only
seasonally

by your fiery bracts
as a crimson attendant

to the shortest days
of winter

which is another way
to say the longest nights—

here as always words
are problematic

we hear what is said
but not what is omitted

and accept cheery propagation
without a second thought

December 13

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poetry

rabbit at the yard edge
still as stone

fading into dusk
awaiting something

or outwaiting it—
I wasn’t prepared

for the silence here
awaking suddenly

to the crack of wood
under duress

holding my breath
listening

as the whole forest
surged around me—

there is no such thing
as empty space

I know this by how
night swallows this house

the knock-kneed pines
and the flooded fields

beyond them
the very earth

falling away
the curvature

of horizon
endlessly advancing

as an unbroken wave
as the hook of a talon