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
the maple by the window put out leaves stretching down to the shrubs, out to the pines, and aside from all this rain the house is dead quiet, the living room sunken, deluged, submersed, and now something weighty lit on the roof but then took off when I went to look, and now some robin singing, unseen, calling out warnings or conveying relief, obscure, obscured and suffused with green
The camillas are all blooming now from the bottom up like they truly don’t care this month still manages to be unexpected warmth or hailstorms no middle ground lessons abound here I’m sure
The promised rain has been detained the day is just still with little anticipation for such a non-event, and one that arrives so innocuously— the thinking that nothing much will change in a mild spring rain by a veil of drops but of course it will— everything is touched, the sidewalk’s sheen, the gingko’s green, the clipped walking pace of the few passerbys outside the window, distant and distant, twice removed— the rain fills the […]
A gap between gingko leaves suggests a bird— between real things impressions, for better or for worse— what makes space negative? Is it the color of the sky, what is defined, or what falls behind, and is it intentional?
Sun today like honey like salve and that breeze coming off the lake– crisp bridges linear and visible in fullest color not simply more light this clarity– winter has its own perspective– a twist of mirrors and new glass shifts into focus a few repurposed shards illusions of infinity and then there is this sky
Mark it the world is opening up again even the night is lightening up the late light golden-green the hour squall-hued– you come in and ask why am I just sitting in the dark? A quiet room invites recollection the scent of rain the sense of it, also the sheen of it on plate glass– I’m watching till it’s over
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 […]
The gingko again, new leaves faint at the edges, a hesitating green, tempered ebullience, middle spring. What is inside is petrified, a relic, scared, and sacred. All weekend long, a promised rain that never really arrived, and so it goes, the hour, the day, half-measured, half-guessed at– an imprecise heart can still feel exacting.
OPTIONAL POETRY 