My heart is over by the budbreak far far over in true sun and night no passivity of rain it falls unequivocally as the light comes down in bars full chords of golden rays and the shadows palpable. My heart is just one cautious note a finch at the field’s edge singing it is so very late and yet still early a frost would be the end irrevocably but the leaves unfurl like tiny sails […]
Sudden blue like a blow who knows from when or where it comes from the viaduct the Bay shines today like a blank page so very full of promise– but how it does get taxing, all this hoping and hoping, and hoping–
These minutes settle like pollen, or dust– imperceptible accrual. A bird sings the same song, over and over and over, you’d think fluency with immersion, but no, some things are inscrutable. Morning cedes with the ease of a breeze, enviably. Recondite self, what is this ache? Hope is only a stop-gap, always traded on arrival, here, now loosen your fingers, now show some grace–
It’s a real bitch to start a fire in the damp don’t I know and yet when you smile I remember it’s happened before– at least I think it was a smile it’s sometimes hard to tell with sidelong glances (If I could I’d blush I’m sure) this a more enjoyable sort of floating softening from sad and sodden to a nearly glad and the sillier soppy
A leave-taking still I’ll see these yellow doors again but it won’t be this me hardly a loss so why this longing for lasting? . All the seeds we planted are coming up distinctive seed leaves true to type and rain this weekend– progress as planned . Is this the way it goes for blossoms that fall off of nascent fruits false starts that only thought they were the thing . Or is this just […]
A misread, that happiness comes indecently— but there’s certainly no modesty as this seedling unfurls for how many years was it less than a thought a dream of life impossibly both blueprint and raw material in a desiccated husk a hull a fleck of the plant that it once was and will be again preposterously and joyfully the promise is kept this the little green antidote for a heart that is wanting–
And then they returned those birds to stratify the sky to incise with wings their variable trajectories and sometimes a sign is actually a sign like when one letter burnt out so that the neon spelled a name once spoken still known if barely but no I’ve heard that song before it seems if anything that hope precludes action and a chance sighting on the street is only routine entropy hokum really even today I […]
A flat five, the coldest night and in the black beyond the house, three owls. Is there a reward for hope? Or is necessity a mother? I do like the answer, here, have an owl, have owls, have stars, have cold air to see your breath, it’s not much but it is everything.
OPTIONAL POETRY 