To the Tune of a Song Not Yet Written

Note: another of a series of poems with the same title, to be scattered throughout a larger project called The Drift.
 

To the Tune of a Song Not Yet Written

Now we enter the season of our age
before summer’s end yellow leaves drift

haze floats between us and the foothills
still the sun is strong the rain when it comes

like the same words over and over
is not yet cold and when I look

between birds and hills I see the past
and am reminded of the future

To the Tune of a Song Not Yet Written

Note: one of a series of poems with the same title, to be scattered throughout a larger project called The Drift.

To the Tune of a Song Not Yet Written

I just spoke to the miles
they have no intention

of coming between us
but cannot get out of

the way so I looked up
the towers of clocks could

count the ways to keep us
together but not give back

even a moment spent
without you so I tried

boxing the yearbooks folded
the distance into my back

pocket even the intentions
bad and good wanted to help

but could not make up their minds
so I asked sleep sleep forgave me

I’m not sure for what but having
removed it all walked with you

wide awake beneath swallows and oak
humming these lines as I forget them

Overcast, Full Moon, Rain

Overcast Full Moon Rain

Does the insect know he has a shadow
or what it is cast from

When he moves from lamplight
and the moon cannot remember him

behind the scrim of rain and the shadow drifts
into illegibility does it add its unknowing

to the black page   these lines are my shadow
are what the moon remembers

The Ancient Ones

The Ancient Ones

 

We think we see them flying by
in a whir almost invisible

until one alights by our table
I know from the way it looks at me

that we are the ancient ones
outliving fin and hoof and claw

outliving the water’s eyes and the wings
outliving these young things our spirits