Tonight
For a while I will sit up listening
to the crickets. Your head on my lap.
I know, I know peace is balanced on
a blade of grass in a breeze
but tonight I am that blade
and nothing will fall
For a while I will sit up listening
to the crickets. Your head on my lap.
I know, I know peace is balanced on
a blade of grass in a breeze
but tonight I am that blade
and nothing will fall
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
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
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
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
Things come in at night
the voice of one locked out
the voice of one who locked him out
(this may be the last room they share)
Smaller than a pen’s
mistake on paper
misplaced dosh
over the letter next
to the i are the wings
of the small insect
opening and closing at the
center of this thought
The breeze comes as promised
without rain but we don’t mind
so much is unreliable a sunny
afternoon unpredicted is welcome
and as last year and the years
before on summer days like this
yellow walnut leaves cascade
a promise the breeze won’t break
Remnants of clouds
wasps hovering over the hollows
The storm a black wall in the sky
a father turning his back
cars break the quiet
thoughts attending their own wake
and now you
are you you or what you mean
woke early to drive
Irish mathematician
to small town airport