I have danced away from fire
when sought by grief,
sometimes too late
and, my hems aflame
chanced sudden leaps
into quiet pools
for water’s healing silk,
resurfacing to breathe again
and sing my words
until the sands run out
Category Archives: shortlings
Late summer
Yesterday’s light was all
perfect angles tipping
slowly toward Fall
hot sun perfect on my back
Drove home into the slant of
the golden hour spraying lightmist
alive less than a half second
The loop of silver gilt
iced phone lines pole to pole
A bag of whistles
They clank along with me
pieces of a longish life
each note a color tone shell
for its part of the story
days or years from a to b
still singing, they diffuse slowly
sound that holds time safe
Words
My words flow over the rocks
smooth and gentle things
when what I want them to do
is shout out loud
avoid the boulders by a hair
laughing hard
and coax some stones to spin
____________________________________
The last line included at the suggestion of fellow poet Kort Fisher.
Insistent messenger
A mourning dove in my apple tree
looks through the window
its message meant to prod
sun shrinks as the cold returns
woods maple tops spike leafless now
bronze oaks and candle beech stand guard
water lilies sink into the pond again
a scooped out moon brings frost
bears already denned up the hill
not quite past time for seeds but hurry
or jays will bring their beaks
A kiss when it’s clear
I was convinced she would never leave
even though the truth of it
ran alongside faster
as she slowed
in the end a quiet moment
took the comfort of her large dog self
and tucked it in the sky
now her gaze is a soft kiss on clear nights
when the stars are watching
________________________________
For my Newfie Aggie
July 23 2009 – August 28, 2021
Quiet morning
As the day warms
the roof is smoking off last night’s wet
my dog lies paws crossed
at the screen door
the small world needs watching
Just a bit
I need a little more time
say a month
added to each day
For love so that its echoes
will remain when I am gone
To listen once again to live voices
in sustained pianissimo
And to capture light
the way I see it
A way through
Birds perch on the balding arms
and bud knobbed fingers
of the kitchen door apple tree
There is a flashing gleam
from the eye of a jay
the sun finding unlikely passage
My mind blinks in disbelief
that such a thing could be
My heart knows better
and begins to sing
Reliquary
I search the winter sunset
for a sign
perched high enough
to see earth’s curve
the join of sun to inky space
almost seamless
as the night takes hold
and watch the red glow form
earth’s second crust again
a reliquary for
the day’s events
The Morgan
It could have been
a silver mercury portrait,
but a horse appeared
displacing stiff poses,
mane flying, neck muscles
bunched in effort,
galloping through
a glimpse of the past.
Audio: Read by the author.
____________________________
A marvelous photo of a Morgan mare by the photographer Deborah Glessner brought up the last two lines of the poem.
Fragment
Each time I try to find
the edge of space, searching
in the darkest part of blue,
past stars and their hangers on
orbiting a single mote of dust,
it turns out I’m that bird
expecting infinity but
finding sudden glass.
For Mary Oliver.
Life With Horace 