Tuesday, March 16, 2021

First Heard It When I Turned 13


What is left to us really, an
An awkward cotillion in
Hazmat tuxedos? 
It goes without saying,
Gowns --crackle of fabric 
Fills our haunted hall and
All our wishes whisper from
The floor: we can't hear
The music anymore.
Strange to think confusion's
Call and random chance
Left us this ball, this dance.

Thursday, February 18, 2021

What Tails Are For

Today's journal entry (to Minnie, who loves cats):

I wish my tail hadn't dropped off some months ago. I wouldn't have to use a cane sometimes.

(In response to Meems, a much-valued commenter, I'm translating my handwriting into something readable here:
                                    An event
                                Lives through a mind
                               And mind anticipates
                               Events --a cat
                               Waits at the back door.
                               That is balance,
                               What tails are for.

Monday, January 4, 2021



Not all possibility is
Simply assembled, but
In motion, colliding,
Sliding, withdrawing,
Eliding, trading orbit
In light, time and chance.
It is a huge dance
Of probability, you see,
And so are we. 

Sunday, November 15, 2020

Shadow Gardening

I don't know how
She combines
Anatomies of  
Shadows and trees.
Its proof plays out
In contours --our
Backporch roof lures
Surprises like these. 
                                 (detail of Normaphoto)

Wednesday, October 21, 2020

Planets and Dragon Eyes

Dilatory but alert, an ancient
Eye watches for some slight
Shift in momentum or mass.
Through branch bark ridge
And glass it watches a bridge
Of light, day and night, for
Orbital decay, for planets--
Any sort of drift that may
Send each its separate way.


Saturday, August 15, 2020

Wonder Watches

 (dedicated to my sister, who took this photograph)
There are clouds
And a breeze --
It's a hundred degrees--
Air sighs aloud in a
Chinaberry tree,
From which, under
Deep shadow, wonder
Watches you and me.

Tuesday, June 30, 2020

How Big Is Here?

A cold April day --here
Rain overlays its sound
Where kind and kind commingle--
A sigh that does not stop but
Scales windy treetops under
This moon of ours...
           ...sings with the
Sighing sea in a language
Of stars, here with you
And here with me.