Tag Archives: not haiku

Psalm

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Psalm

 

So where is the past? Is it the terrain
in periphery, never the destination

but whose contours shape the weather?
Is it the icy light the moon reflects

on the tracks of things before me?
Wonderful deeds have we done, and

fearful things. They lay across the path
of parting like roots or over-hang

my steps with shade and snakes.
I do not wish to look

back. I only need to know
from which direction will come

the monster-god it has nurtured
to replace me so that I may stand

before him in the breach to turn away
his wrath, convince this pale reflection

that it could be a kinder god

Lines Written After Encountering a Cat in My House, #1

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Lines Written After Encountering a Cat in My House, #1

 

The darkness of a cat sliding past me on its way
up the stairs as I descend can seem symbolic

of a missed opportunity or something passing by
I should have paid more attention to on my way

to put out the trash but in reality I still got the trash
put out and a cat passing by in the dark on the stairs

is never an opportunity even in this ankle deep silence

Early Morning Sky

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Early Morning Sky

 

Underlit clouds reach across the new day’s ceiling
like a giant hand trying to trap something.

Or save someone. But I’m hidden beneath these trees
and houses. It goes on, drifts beyond, the wrong way.

Reflections, Early October Rain

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Reflections, Early October Rain

 

In the rain on the street’s surface
each house shimmers its inner life

when my eyes water with memory
the homes break into ten thousand drops

At the Overlook on Afton Mountain, Last Morning of September

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cloud sea

At the Overlook on Afton Mountain, Last Morning of September

Cloud Ocean lays over the valley as an unnamed sea
did before names, only the southern peaks

visible like islands in the distance. Clouds crash
into a coast of trees and in the slow motion violence of

white spray rising I sway unsteadily
on top of 400 million years of unmoving rock

cloud sea spray noir

 

 

Outside My Window, Last Night of September

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Outside My Window, Last Night of September

 

So quiet except for fall crickets hanging on
In the rectangle of black behind the screen

I hear the soft pattering of rain and lean over the sill
and see two moths, brown like faded leaves

beating forgotten wings against a night full of stars

Sunday Service, Small Town in Virginia, Late September, on the Occurrence of Emptiness

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Sunday Service, Small Town in Virginia, Late September, on the Occurrence of Emptiness

No traffic. A leaf clatters like a steed with an urgent message
then gives in to a burlesque swirl and stills itself out

of momentum. A yellow moth staggers on uneven air across the empty street.
I can walk down the middle of the road past lonely double-parked cars.

Not a soul is about. The churches are filled up with their giant doors shut
like a present I will not unwrap. The entire town is my empty prayer.

I can appreciate every curb’s lift, every curve of crumbling brick
arch on old buildings, window-shop for emptiness and find it

everywhere. Even the crow’s shadow barely skims the earth.
And a thousand yellow leaves do the moth better than the moth did.

Two Couplets on Vision

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onvision

Two Couplets on Vision

The sun rises in opposition to image
and sets in middle of a million pictures

*

What’s right before me is a blur but worth the trade
to escape the burden of frames and look around

September 21

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September 21

 

Dusk leans in to the porch as we talk this anniversary night.
A cricket quietly mans the railing, as if he too were taking a moment

away from the kids and phone and all the cricket world’s white
noise and sitting on the silent rail of the moment. Clouds once pink

with end of day excitement have settled to the gray of river stones.
Later it will rain. Already the fresh breeze on the front’s other side

is banging the screen door of the abandoned house next to us.
Tomorrow the new season will walk in, confounded, wondering

who left the place and why, why they couldn’t wait for cooler
weather to prevail. On a thin boat of thought I push us away

from this container of emptiness to emptiness itself,
pointing out your heavenly body in the silt of the star river.

There is a cricket manning the oars and he will serenade us as well,
if he is still alive when we anchor just past the equinox.

Consequence

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Consequence

 

Rain on a day off differs
from rain on a business day.

On the road it is fine but soaking.
Under the tree one is protected

from rain’s penetrating consistency
though drops recombine sometimes

on their way through the leaves
with larger consequence