May 14, 2001

I have this lovely morning,
this place entwined in me like

morning glories in a fence.
The mirror of pond is not

disturbed by pronouncements I
would make. The trees cannot take

back the line of grey horizon,
which is the seam of everything.

 

May 15, 2001

Where the hawk's tree used to stand
I think I see an Overhawk
above the field, its wings as wide
as the northwestern sky, dun-

colored, gigantic. Great Hawk, you'd
call it, spirit of the place,
holiness where a tree had been.

May 22, 2001

So - nothing to say.
I go to the well:

the well is dry.
A dusty road is

all I've got for brain,
a few flies buzzing

there. They look for
moisture. The sun

bakes everything.
Everything dreams

the same dull brown.

June 4, 2001 (2)

You worry that you may
have nothing to say, yet

all is not lost. You will
find the emptiness filled.

Memory is more than
smoke; and making space for

nonsense saves a place for
wisdom. Abandon hope, though,

and you can't go back.

September 28, 2001

Somewhere the season turned on us. Flowers
hold on - just - their last rejoicement.

You leave nothing behind, you leave
everything. Sometimes even God

is at a loss: "What to do, what to do?"