July 17 (in which I try to write and format a poem on a smartphone and it goes predictably badly…)

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poetry

The late-July breeze, distinctive
in ease, a quiet morning slipping by,
I wake and say I’m here! I’m here! somehow
still a fear of loss, despite the day unfolding
like a lawn chair, predictable, light-weight

.

To have, to hold– a leaf-dappled scene
a girder on the building, perforated
at regular intervals and the word
EMPTY over and over, is it a warning?
or a confirmation

.

There is so much space inside
these days, so little tethering
them in place, you think
an uncontrolled fall from there, 
you think the myriad faces, the counterparts,
negating, rescinding

.

A wisp of clouds here, but thunder
in the pass, maybe a loss
of temporality– a sweet sparrow
call, it’s so peaceful here,
so where am I exactly?

July 17

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The late-July breeze, distinctive
in ease, a quiet morning slipping by,
I wake and say I’m here! I’m here! somehow 
still a fear of loss, despite the day unfolding
like a lawn chair, predictable, light-weight

.

July 12

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poetry

another day
box-like in progression,

predictability,
oh inflexibility

of time–
I’d rather

an ocean I’d rather
that ocean sound

that imperfect rhythm
constant yet

somehow revelatory
I know the pilgrim

changes it’s not
the pilgrimage

per se
but things are always

more tolerable
somewhere else

 

July 10

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poetry

Everything defined by space,
in gestalt, they say figure

-ground reversal, emphasizing
that negative space, sometimes

a new image pops out,
at the loss of the original–

seeing it another way
it cannot be re-seen

.

here the gingko
indifferent sky glimpsed

through scaffolding
at angles, is it contained,

constrained? somehow
the mind says no

.

but what does
the mind know?

a morning breeze
tinged with the sea

lifts all hopes
but sometimes

morning just slumps
into day, nondescript

and non-desired, the background
sets the tone

July 7

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poetry

Rain starting to come in
the open window

the day says get to the point
and July as a whole–

I don’t know,
it is somehow insubmersible

.

a stream of ragged people
go by  with unclear words

but that tone
is unmistakable

.

water beads up on the glass,
imperfect, but linear–

.

and so, this month goes on

 

 

July 5

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poetry

colder this side
of the pass

rain and the threat
of rain, almost worse

i think
for being imagined,

and you couldn’t imagine
the things i can think

in the vastness of
a room

July 4

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poetry

A cool cloudy morning,
leniency after the weekend’s

heat. A dog throws itself
down the ravine

in pursuit of  a ball,
the neighbor

unleashes a cascade
of glass bottles

getting ready
to pack up the house.

All day in the mountains
yesterday, sweat, scree,

snow. Aching today,
a reminder, the summit

hard-earned, but elation
tempering the bite

of elevation,
and descent

always less benign
than we thought.

 

 

 

 

July 2

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poetry

Morning, overcast, insistent doves.
A bright gray, an unsettled wind

saying soon this will all
blow over.  The lake houses

all full this weekend, bits
of chatter from other

porches, I mean,
it is what it is

or nearer to home
the silent neighbor,

surveying his swaying
grape vines

.

Our grapes are dusky-hued,
small beads, the birds

aren’t even interested yet,
the basil deep green

and starting to bolt–
expectations

a difficult thing.
Still, the pepper

flowers haven’t dropped
yet, blue sky in the North–

the whole neighborhood
starts walking the loop

before the heat starts,
breathless fragments

rising over the hill:
When she’s in town

she keeps us pretty busy;
I felt kind of bad, because, you know…

I keep remembering Holly–
how the old dog

would have barked,
even near the end,

and has it been
a year, or two?

.

A strange thing
this newly-felt

denominator,
present over past,

a boat at anchor
on the lake–

you don’t feel
the drifting much then

but look how far
we’ve come