Afternoon as threshold, precipice. Mid-week, mid-month, equipoise and the cry of a woodpecker. They say the snow’s all done, and now that it’s light later we hacked back the blueberries that won’t produce, severely, taking them down to the ground, provoking life from dormancy, or: hoping. An hour later, still, shears in hand going at spouts and suckers in the bay laurel, getting dark out, and cold, still, to bring order! An evening act, as […]
Sometimes dismay the price of ownership— this unruly garden not soft or settled,but built up with intent and too-rough edges. Still, a weed can flower, and sunlight descends again, low, springy, rupestrine— still, joy in organic geometries. I pick out rocks with a rusty trowel, an indigo jay shouts out its indigo call, but harbingers are tricky— I don’t know know know know know, either, creating so many holes and filling them all with seeds […]
A return to the ground to sow more seeds prayers in a way when they are grown where will I be thinking back on this moment on how far we’ve both come the soil is cool and the morning birds are not alarmed now accustomed to this custom and oh today how it felt like an ending but roots I guess do their best work unseen.
OPTIONAL POETRY 