June 11
back from the ocean city night sounds windows open to let the night in what else to say it hums with some energy not unlike a tide changing also gradually but impossible to refute not unlike this sunburn or how much I’m missing you
back from the ocean city night sounds windows open to let the night in what else to say it hums with some energy not unlike a tide changing also gradually but impossible to refute not unlike this sunburn or how much I’m missing you
this night is loud the house continually settling a clatter of stars or do they ring out like fallen coins to steal a moment convincingly there can be no hesitation a minute must be occupied completely by nothing at all a low jet-plane and thoughts intrude and now it is just late dawn coming head-on from miles away
the way a summer day lingers, and the night, too a golden thing won’t go– some minutes are a life of possibility, the breeze shakes the shades and sunbeams shift on the floor like seagrass underwater, ephemeral, summer, how many ways it could go, or stay, first cool of evening, but still light out, birdcall and voices from afar, and summer fruit, the lazy sweetness of it all, each hour rising up like super-heated air, […]
Late late morning a ripple on the lake a standing wave or complicated wake two lizards sunning themselves and not much else to say, calm and soft here, East of the mountains I watch descents: parasails, quails the crescent day moon the onerous ray of sun and spare a thought for yours: did your crampons bite? did the pack give way? Alone in the shade of static, fixed hills, I wonder, and wait.
more wilderness here in a square foot than home already hotter than predicted these clouds look like a child drew them and incessant songbirds insisting it’s not summer yet that we are still arriving such a strange place this year is given in to longing at every margin still snow in the passes and this baslamroot spent
Flower moon milk moon strange weather these days which came first the sun or all this rain the gingko come back overnight it seems or maybe I’ve been away wet footings insubstantial sleep . flower moon milk moon must exert some tide some pull a dream some days can seem more real but still recedes electric green leaves convulsing in the wind thunder predicted and waiting as giving . milk moon flower moon what sort […]
At the laundermat police up the street corraled bikes like spilt jacks across Pike street mostly quiet for now the insustrial -sized drier cranks on and off gas-powered round-doored highest capacity. All day helicopters in droning flight half fly, half vulture it keeps coming back to mouths to feed, inches given and miles of streets, some feet, some footnotes, people don’t realize, you know, if you think about it, why? a quote, lamentably, and a […]
and then a silence becomes unspeakable spring rain gentle except for when it is not complacency split up by unusual intermissions damp green and watery themes the creek up the lake spilling its bounds each leaf recoiling back to how it was or wasn’t can this transition be considered status quo how a season always goes transience in object definitions always a before even these mountains and the expectation of after breaths collect in cool […]
Spring snow, heavy from the sun, as one season slides into another, jubilant, inexorable, put on a happy face and wonder where has it gone? No more sloping, no more gentleness, whatever I thought there was, was wrong and the only way out is through. Truisms and robber jays, ice in the shade. A refusal
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 […]