June 18
I watched the bear in the meadow and felt no fear a vignette at sunset not really a trait a descent tomorrow and already the night is rough against my skin animal misgivings lumbering in the tall grass the wretched unease of an eve
All posts tagged: anxiety
December 22
I can drive back now without google mapsback home? one struggles with the definition Snow in the forecastI can’t find my gloves somewhere still unpackedthe endless boxes stacked haphazardlyin the stale spare room like the thoughtsof an insufficiently occupied mindhalf-open and malevolently unfinished winter solsticethe temperature dropping
November 19
And here I am, againseeking the simplest solace the flicker of pinkin an underwing don’t know if you saw itwhich tips me over again, the elegant branchingof a dormant magnolia like alveoli againstthe darkening sky but too brittlefor breath, also but this illusionof inertia is beguilingfor once flight seems franticor perhaps just out of reachto stay rooted exactly here without even the weightof a thought of returning no movement no reckoningthat might be fine
June 11
// Berceuse // The small dog got her hackles up before the owl lit on the roof a small soft sound like a slide of dirt outside in the open stretch of night its compatriot hoo-ed and we argued over stars this is arcturus or is it mars? I was wrong; dry air, water in my eyes, the largesse of sky cradled in these dry grass hills– the town, the hour, everything stilled, even the tumult […]
February 23
At first the night, and then the reckoning, that special brand of dread, like a sleeping limb, still there, present, painfully so . something blooming just outside the yard not jasmine not lilac not honeysuckle not any flower I know or have managed yet to find– . if a lesson, like a scent, intangible, volatile [+A million apologies for being derelict in wordpress activity of late]
February 9
The moth-heart hours doubt-dusted the moon an always open eye even silence resonates a night has a tenor some brittle tone a wave breaks but what of it the shore is not a home
October 10
Waking to obvious rain. Like bright -hued children the construction men wait, dwarfed by and dampened at the site’s abyss. Something might be wrong, now, they collect and gather, staring down. Conjecture: a short but unknowable distance. A gull’s nervous warble, unseen. The stillness of the ginkgo tree. No wind. Someday it will grow to shade this view, to blatantly obscure, not by illusory degrees— I know what is unknowable, sometimes. All this slanting rain. […]
July 23
A night wide open like eyes. The way a pupil seems to fill an iris but is actually a hole. A gate draws open in advance of an arrival. The capacity for delivery. Nothing so sure.
July 19
Another night like drowning– sometimes a tide comes up further than expected and lacking air a body cannot perform voluntary efforts to seek attention– I sink into a drink knowing day will rise again from this watery dark– less phoenix, more albatross, but, any port in storm–
June 17
Everything is bolting in the heat, sending up last gasps, small anxious leaves, scattered and flowering, even the greens in the shadiest bed giving in to reflex– panic, unbecoming, I sit in late morning’s near silence– a button strikes in the washing machine, the dog is gnashing her fur with her teeth, a jet passes low– tail, contrail, it’s motion that gives us all away– Unmoved, I eat a mealy peach.
OPTIONAL POETRY 