Beside the bank where black swans often lie
in twos, beneath wild fruit trees near the stream
where Chinese geese move single file across
the water like a strand of flags that gleam
with little angled feathertips of light,
I heard her speak. It was a quiet voice,
like summer clouds that weep along low hills
of poplar groves then peacefully rejoice
in [...]
Today the secret names of everything
come back, the ancient names.
Tribe-of-the-morning names
call to me from the wind, which I know
as shut-your-eyes-breath,
hands-over-your-ears, gone-with-the-ice-song,
hymn-rising-out-of-cottonwood-sap.
Smell-of-dogwood; it is called,
smell-of-willow.
Daffodil has become again
small-pusher-of-earth-and-snow,
light-out-of-stone,
seawater-turned-sunshine.
This morning has its own name,
separate from all other mornings,
fire-in-the-clouds
waking-in-the-folds-of-mountain,
joy-of-long-shadows.
And now spring has brought
mist-in-my-breath,
shining-on-the-rocks,
quick-and-noisy-in-the-canyon,
to make soft soil in the garden
where I kneel for the first time
on the almost-warm-gift-to-growing
and work [...]
Sitting cross-legged beneath the cherry tree,
wearing her mother’s seed pearl necklace
and a sprig of jasmine on her bodice—
she offers blossoms to a gravestone.
The gilt and gold of late afternoon washes
through shadows. It’s springtime. Unripened
fruit hangs like quiet temple bells between
flowering cylinders of white, and brides
with dark branches. Somewhere in the sweet alone,
silence caps hilltops and [...]
where i broke off a stem,
white drops oozed
in a milky trickle from the plant
growing wild
in the vacant lot next door.
“bring the plant you found
it on,” my mother had said
as we settled my caterpillar
in the glass quart jar
that would be its home.
i liked to pound the hammer
on a sharp nail, driving
breathing holes into the jar lid
after [...]
‘Twas yesterday I saw a crack
That stretched across the sky.
It pushed the silken curtains back
And hung the trees to dry.
It glittered gold—A shining slice
Of glorious pearly cream
And shattered all the sadness ’round
With its single shining beam.
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Mary-Celeste Lewis has golden hair, blue eyes, and loves to play with her nieces and nephews. When she’s not [...]
Slowly, after evening has gathered her stars,
Daybreak quietly spreads over the meadowland.
Foxglove and larkspur rise like tranquil towers
Floating in the shadowy, purple dawn.
Briar patches, woven with dewy blackberries,
Hedge around crooked oaks where sparrows
Flit in the branches. Small clouds of palest pink,
Mushroom in the soft-born morning light,
And linger above the violet embroidered vales.
Soon, all the budding [...]
Skulls and other crumbling caves invite
Smaller things to enter them. So this mill,
Detail jumbling as its carpentry unlaced,
Called me down to its hollow, where irrigation
Swilled in a greener-than-grass surface algae,
Emerald, tepid, moating around the swayback
Structure tossed up by waves of receded grain.
Blue damselflies, thin as flower petals,
Coupled in a fringe around the pool.
Beyond that water [...]
March 15, 2010. This winter paved the desert over, storm after storm laying down two-to-three feet of whitetop, setting spring back by more than half a month. Since December 21st, I’ve been out only rarely, the deep snow creating hazards well beyond my abilities to negotiate them. Who knew that when I moved to southeastern [...]
Elizabeth Songstaffe, whose name
is inscribed in my gold-edged bible,
how was your life composed?
Did your pockets brim
with grace notes that scattered
like freckles on a shoulder?
Were you awkward
as a lonely clap, sounding after
a symphony’s first movement?
Born one hundred years ago,
your death was not recorded–
yet, I hear a faint refrain.
Did you once hum across prairies
on humid evenings, or [...]
The poplar’s shadow on her hand
Indicates a tree in spring.
Willets, catbirds, and broncos all hear
Big-hipped nature dancing across the Rockies
Stripping and putting on the many faces of
A weather-beaten land:
Green, red, brown, and white,
The flag of summer on the horizon.
They are indivisible incompatibles,
This landscape and
The mutterings of a middle woman.
Her words lie naked in a field,
Lost [...]