This weird spring light
that fills the house with green
bright through the curtains
the lashings of rain
the day surges
then cedes
a thrush sings
its cool low call
the mist comes down
into the pines
behind the woodshed
the forest behind us
growing shadowed
and deep
somewhere out there
the newly woken bear
is making its way
along the edge of a dream
The bobcats came in close
at dusk
as the rain ebbed
three, one following one
after the other
like easy conversation
wild around the eyes
unhurried, unworldly
and for one single moment
joy
the street ended in a cloud
as did the day
a damp forest lot
made softer by mist
some of it rain
and some of it a gift
a slip of the ephemeral
given up by the earth
Cuetlaxochitl
when not blighted
or root-bound
you are a lanky thing
almost unrecognizable
when green
we know you only
seasonally
by your fiery bracts
as a crimson attendant
to the shortest days
of winter
which is another way
to say the longest nights—
here as always words
are problematic
we hear what is said
but not what is omitted
and accept cheery propagation
without a second thought
rabbit at the yard edge
still as stone
fading into dusk
awaiting something
or outwaiting it—
I wasn’t prepared
for the silence here
awaking suddenly
to the crack of wood
under duress
holding my breath
listening
as the whole forest
surged around me—
there is no such thing
as empty space
I know this by how
night swallows this house
the knock-kneed pines
and the flooded fields
beyond them
the very earth
falling away
the curvature
of horizon
endlessly advancing
as an unbroken wave
as the hook of a talon
a day under glass
how to explain
the air was thick
but nothing happened
the sun never even rose
late geese flew low
in an avian shorthand
in a lusterless sky
Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini
accompanied by the roar
of two plastic dinosaurs
from the back seat of the car
the rain compounds the dark
and traffic inches along
I sent the package
to the wrong house, the old house
this is an uncertain endeavor
what is mine, what was mine
you are unaware in your carseat
watching the world melt
into discrete globes
of red and white and green
clinging to the windows
refracting chains of headlights,
taillights, stoplights, coming, going,
everything all so terribly relative—
I wonder if someone
has moved in yet
years before the prior tenants
sent their Christmas presents to us
ringing the doorbell
slightly panicked outside
in the weather
we had just moved in–
how many times now
have we driven this road
or been pulled along
like a needle in a groove
the night dark enough now
to question free will
among other things–
the absurdity of it all
the same canned roars
over and over, overlaying a piano
that sparkles and scatters
the same melodic phrase
reworking it again
a crescendo of rain
this our exact place
in the night, in the world—
the orchestra swells
a lung inhaling
the light turns green
but no cars advance
these days are mostly dark
a trick of latitude
headlights, brakelights
strung like beads
throughout the hills—
everything beyond them
the arras of night
even knowing well
the trees, the park
even seeing them aglow
in the low strange sunset
not one hour ago
I am now uncertain
the cars pass and pass by
like electrons in their tracks
there are no stars
there is no sky
just an aperture thrown open
an expectant thing
a little north of dread
The spiderwebs are all
that is holding this together
everywhere now
in these odd days
that exist between
summer and fall
the same stale heat
or frost at dawn
the sun ceding
more readily
the punch hole moon
the geometries of birdflight
anything could happen
when did that become a threat?
After the rain
watching the chickens
deliberate in the grass
a small gecko working its way up
the palm cane
a flash of guava
at its throat
this sultry, verdant place—
we all sleep easily
but lightly
the soporific ocean
the balmy taro fields
water pooling like mercury
around the alien stalks
a dreamscape
a floating afterlife
earth made sky
the heaviness of air
suddenly palpable—
strange to step out
of a life
so abruptly
watch it go on
from such a distance
a half-remembered dream
something that mattered once
maybe even yesterday—
What time is it? You asked
as we approached the date line
leaving the flares of sunset
behind us
watching the earth bend
what could I say?
The rooster’s tail feathers
split like palm fronds
in the wind
none of these birds
have any fear
as I drowse in the heat
they flit under my chair
with feet like foreign
punctuation
one lit on my ankle
a soft slight weight
proof of something
perhaps our relative buoyancies
OPTIONAL POETRY 