20/The Moon, the Whole Moon, and Nothing But the Moon Glorious, nourishing, flourishing moon, swollen with all the raw energy of time and what it does as light, I take off my hat, my coat, my tie, my shoes and socks to you. Breathing you in like an oceanic breeze, how can I expect to…
I can clear my name. It was my brother, not me, Who stole your fruit And sold that pop Bottle on your porch, Nickel for his pocket And a jaw breaker that Shattered like a star When Mother got us alone, Naked with our two sins. It was brother, not me. I was saintly that…
1. Spring, and so they danced mid-air. He circled and repeated until she paused to a second's locking. Gazing by the window, dishtowel in hand, I almost missed it: red and gold, two velvets shivering, then she was away. He perched on the nearest branch; dead-still, head cocked, as if to save the event, as…
The angel kissed my alphabet, it tingled like a cobweb in starlight. A few letters detached themselves and drifted in shadows, a loneliness they carry like infinitesimal coffins on their heads. She kisses my alphabet and a door opens: blackbirds roosting on far ridges. A windowpeeper under an umbrella watches a funeral service. Blinkered horses…
Mountain blue on the powerline, preening as the big C-119 heads out low over aspen and yellow pine, dragging slurry to Challis, up by Yankee Fork. Idaho is burning. Hot dogs on sale at The Merc; pleasure craft tearing apart the morning lake send osprey wheeling toward deeper woods. Aspen, osprey— haze over half the…
—North wind flows from the mountain like water, a clear constancy Runnelling through the grapevines, Slipping and eddying over the furrows the grasses make Between the heaves and slackening of the vine rows, Easing and lengthening over the trees, then smooth, flat And without sound onto…
Since I don't know who will be reading this or even if it will be read, I must invent someone on the other end of eternity, a distant cousin laboring under the same faint stars I labored under all those unnumbered years ago. I make you like me in everything I can — a man…
Scarecrow, they called me, in my old gingham, poked up on a pole to tilt and waltz with whatever fickle wind happened by. My blood, bone and heart: old stable straw ticking with crickets, locusts, every harvest-hungry insect. For years I watched this garden someone else planted. Limbs all akimbo, pure as a saint, I…
A farmer digging a well in central China uncovered the site where 6000 terra-cotta soldiers were buried by the first Chin emperor. . . . [guided tour] How we would love to take the things of this world with us to the next: a wife, a well-thumbed book, something in gold, perhaps, to mimic sunlight….
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