Cosmos

Does it feel eyes focus
On a foggy night,
Corona close around the moon,
Dew drip like clockwork
Under eaves, what I hear,
See, what I believe
Beside this house in
Mist and night and outward,
Ever, where gravity and light
Travel and galactic dawns
Subtend the end of time?
A machine of echoes:
Immensities turn
On irreducibles.
In this coldness, haven,
Crucible, all parts fit
And it knows me.
I am made of it.

Sundial

Ant on an
Analemma gnomon
Climbs a code
Across light,
Across seasons
When color reclaims
This old gray road.
It too may
Overlay itself for
All I know.
Things come, go.
Things do.
New lives enter.
I like winter,
Don't you?

On A Bridge

I am amazed at
What things mean.
Devices, by which
The impossible is
Seen, surround the soul.
What is secret when
Wind, rattling in reeds,
Repeats what is
Whispered in a hole?

Peak Oil

Path through rain, not
Trodden into mire but
Higher, where dreams
Have been --what one
Does one does as good
Again, and good enough.
Far up, where city lights
Shine like diamond dust
Under me, and higher,
Where an ice-shelf cracked
And calved into the sea,
Rain of future ages
Evaporates off rages,
Beings screamed in
Each other's noise.
Understand, this is where
Dreams run out of land,
Joys take flight and
Dragons soar above
The rainy night.

Retirement

Gray fences pushed
About by bushes abandon
Euclid between burled trunks.
Impossible trees outline
Eccentricities. Mind
Divided from parks by
Palings sees each limb beckon
In wind, gardens call,
And by reckoning
Fall leaves, light, shadow,
Go where no
Fences are at all.

Dormant With Roses

Universe is a tough room
Sometimes, wears us
Bare for another bloom.
What we know
Of time we know also
Of gravity, drawing down,
Forward, all things, you
And me in unseen powers
Emerge, age, detatch,
Verge always --petals,
Spent flowers, effects
Sent when possibility
Collects what is--
Upon what can be.

Applied Withering

Neck craned over
Summer stem bleached
Between wilting leaves--
Fall storm,
Forlorn sunflowers.
Rainy day.
Shouldn't look down.
Neither should they.

Question

Have you walked past a window
On your way to the bathroom
And seen someone out there
With a garden hose or doing
Whatever and stopped, looked
Longer at the recognizable under
Floppy hat, sunglasses and said,
"I love you", even though you
Know no one but you can hear it
And you've still got to pee, you
Just watch a moment longer
And say it again?

Bench

Expressed in
Velocity, all
Events times
All possible
Events, even
Sitting very still
On this bench,
Is the speed
Of our souls.

Estivation

Summer assembles
High upon the planet,
Swirls down
North wind, rain
In mustard fields,
Bushtits, privets,
Spiders, iris spears.
An idea in nature nears
In illusion left to
To cycles stored
In summer seeds.
Lizards patrol trails.
Ponds recede.
No weather at all.
Apologies wait
Until Fall.

E equals

Over treetops,
In the sky, we
See ourselves
Tonight.
By computation
In moonlit leaves
We are the
Square root
Of light.

Tint Duel

In order
Is disorder understood.
Those funny yellow weeds
Among heather are
Also heather.
There is no heath
The size of itself
Or single way
It goes.
It is
What it is, and how
The cosmos grows.

Gravel

Gravel garden walk--
Crunchy thing--
Pensive sound stirring
History, intrigue, power.
Gold, any gold under flowers?
Nitric acid would tell if
I had any.
Well, arsenic?
Reinsch test misreads
Its own copper gauze
Which contains what it tests for.
Marsh test is accurate
Nine times out of ten.
I haven't the knack
But then, how to tell if
These rocks are backfill
Over poisoned royalty?
This was greed, grief.
This was bone,
Committed to crystal lattice
In a stone.
Or could this be a bug
Breaking into a water drop?
Who am I, then, where stone stops?
Who cares.
I have worked hard on this who,
Don't want it petrified
In poisons under tombs, menhirs,
Pyramids, abbeys, stuff formed
Of so much rock
I'm surprised any is
Left over for my
Gravel garden walk.

Janus Before Seven

Time to sit on a log
And be spellbound
In pearl early light
Turning in low fog.
White tendrils curl
Up from earth,
Ghosts churning
White over winter
Fields.
Not a sound.
How to consume
This crop, this yield?
Sit on a log, be
Spellbound.