Tag Archives: the past

Landscape, mild February night, with parked car in lot by field and trees and second smaller landscape closer than it appears

midDusk

Landscape, mild February night, with parked car in lot by field and trees and second smaller landscape closer than it appears

Mid-dusk turns gray green; image on an old TV.
The shadow on a rock thrown by the lot’s

Halogen lights lands with jumpy dog stillness.
Wind spills through lowered windows unevenly

Like coffee in a cup after a sudden brake spills,
Returns, spills again. Go out eleven steps

Into the woods and the dead leaves hanging
On the tree are wilder than the dead leaves

On the tree in the school parking lot. The wind
Passing through them has a different accent.

From a driver’s seat you can look backward
Without moving your head. Without thinking.

You imagine a speeding car coming up beside
You, too late to stop moving into the same lane.

The future can keep only one of you intact.
But blink and it is only three trees, on the lot’s

Far edge, in some complex leafless interaction
With the rest of the world which has no idea

How much they see. Don’t take those gestures
For scenery. They have been waiting here

A hundred years to warn you that the past is
Speeding up and passing you on the left.

On Drinking a Portuguese Wine on the Last Night of June

On Drinking a Portuguese Wine on the Last Night of June

This is how the month tasted, too. Full and lush on the front,
a vacation rental that is not too big or expensive but rich.

On the back, like the sound of surf slipping through the sand,
the taste of something going away, complexity escaping completion, dry on the tongue.

First Night in The New House, with Full Moon (#fullmoonsocial2015)

August_moon

First Night in The New House, with Full Moon

The rising full moon fills in
a small cratered crack in the old window

where a stone or BB years ago must
have dug in before reflecting off its loss

As I sit with my son waiting for his breathing
to level into what I know will be dreams

of the many things he will make and be
the moon continues across the sky

and out of the window’s framing (though the moon
in the window cratered out bright and tiny

remains where it is
how like the past sometimes refuses to move)