Mid-Autumn, 2012

Histories combine
Into a fenceline.
In the anatomy
Of the future,
Time is a nerve 
Through which
The universe
Experiences itself.

More Thoughts On Turkey

She still climbs and oversees
Jennies and Jakes spread into
Prairie, gently, intently.
Not all lived --my neighbor,
And dear friend, found
Feathers in his field.
She is alone now and
How her heart roams, as
She surveys the lanes
And homes, is testament--
Proof-- that lingering love 
And care include our roof.

2019

 (Photo is an unintended companion-piece to Camanche Lake 1969. Associative mentation and time tend to play such pranks.)


Shutting The Door Behind Me
Unlike some sentients,
I close the door behind me
But do not open a window.
I have found snakes in
The pumphouse, and the
Odd mouse, both begging
To be let out --and I do.
But descendants return
After many generations,
(About two days for us)
And repeat history, and
We defeat the mystery. 
Sentience means we must.
So shut windows and doors.
The universe you save is yours.
 

My Hero of Point Reyes, 1965

We arrived, a '63 Chevy
In morning mist and
Insisted we wade out
As one into the sounding 
Sea --Drake's Bay.
The day was hot and we
Rejoiced under sun
Into night then hiked
Back up, to a note
On the windshield:
"You left your lights
On this morning, so
I disconnected the battery--
Ranger Dave." We
Found a half-inch crescent
Wrench under the hood
And surmised we,
And an angel, dived
Into the same wave.

Irreducible Haiku

Down a cat-shaped hole
Moving through the universe
Rodents disappear.

1977

Moment of creation is
Always ideation, progress,
Succession of  futures,
Falling stars and heartbeats.
By gain and retreat we 
Define time over real, unreal
And climb what is revealed.

Camanche Lake 1969

I remember it as though
It was only 50 years ago
Instead of half a century.
She and I adventured at
A convergence in history--
Three counties, Amador, 
Calaveras, San Joaquin,
Camanche among & between,
Where our state came to
Mean gardens and old
Dreams of vineyards, gold,
Then hopes for those 
With swimmers' bodies
Rose between our yard-long
Arms and she took a photo.
Why? I still don't know.  

Regarding Tools, Sub Rosa Revisited

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Sub Rosa

[Norma photo]

As I, under
Rose shadow,
Worked my ass
Off years ago,
Old foundations
Crumbled --oh, we
Mumble explanations:
Surely age and weather
Exact a toll together
On farmhouses
And fools --a new
Physique, more
Room back there
For tools

Touch

Where time
Expands space,
We touched hands,
Joined ways
And to that 
Touch entrusted
All our days.

With Love and Admiration to All Mothers

(1915-2001)

                                                                  

When her hearing went,
She often said,"I can hear you
But  can't tell what you're saying."
At her kitchen table
We watched a storm pound
Over the old  olive orchard.
Sunlight fled the field,
Crossed the creek and
Dark filled the window,

Then lit blinding blue

With thunder to the bone.
When the room unrattled
She laughed, "I heard that.
I just couldn't tell what it said."
I wish again  her hearing
had been better because
I'd love to know.

Timetable

Rodin, "The fallen Caryatid"

Caryatid or 
Atlantid under
Entablature, our
World, a moment.
A moment has no 
Thought in it, shorter
Than neural synapse,
Irreducible and yet seeks--
Fallen or not --an astragal
Of light and life composing
Souls in history, our inquiry:
What are we?
What can we be?  

Time and Cheshire Cats

Time is fluid,
Seeking its container,
Itself, assuming
All shapes --space,
Velocity, forever
And, of course, 
Imagination and us.

F=MxA* Revisited

*
Wind rises.
Up puffs 
Fluff from
Dandelions.
Dispersal
Never stops,
Nor do thoughts
Grow only
To their tops.

Synodic Prograde

Our station, sunrise
To sunrise, in relation
To our star: right now
We are in eastward motion--
All our land and ocean.
Right now we are
Fusing a billion tons
Of hydrogen into
Helium every other
Second --our mother,
The sun,  mysterium
Tremendum, what we are,
Our star and what
We may become.