July 18

a thirst and that way
weariness rests

just outside the eyes-
another rainless day

sun on green glass
oh the height of it all

a seagull seems
to fly low

here the trees
seem out of place

set pieces
this room

is mostly window
and open space

but some things
you just can’t fake

this song progresses
through common chords

characterize everything
as a wait

it sure doesn’t feel like arrival
nobody’s fault but mine

wine, and a summer
more than half gone–

what can I say?
the sky is perfect

this sky is perfect
it shames me for feeling

anything less
than joy

July 17

almost calm
this not yet night

a house it settles
but a city it calls

and calls like some
stray cat enamored

by want
and measuring out

the confines
of its alleys

June 21

tannin of disappointment
how it clings

like a soft bitter leaf
stains an evening

seeps into a day
full sun solstice

even here
longest day and longest

shadows
cast a stone

and ripples
cast a doubt

and the breeze
might not even be real

June 13

a day of too many
quiet rooms

no balm for it
words on a page

too linear
the page too square

all coming back to right
angles, edges, each a precipice–

if potential was
always positive

a heart would not
sink

June 11

back from the ocean
city night sounds

windows open
to let the night in

what else to say
it hums with some

energy not unlike
a tide

changing also
gradually but impossible

to refute
not unlike this sunburn

or how much
I’m missing you

June 8

this night is loud
the house continually

settling
a clatter of stars

or do they ring out
like fallen coins

to steal a moment
convincingly

there can be no hesitation
a minute must be

occupied completely
by nothing at all

a low jet-plane
and thoughts intrude

and now it is
just late

dawn coming head-on
from miles away

June 6

the way a summer day
lingers, and the night, too

a golden thing won’t go–
some minutes are a life

of possibility,
the breeze shakes the shades

and sunbeams shift
on the floor like seagrass

underwater, ephemeral,
summer, how many ways

it could go, or stay, first
cool of evening, but still light

out, birdcall and voices
from afar, and summer fruit,

the lazy sweetness of it all,
each hour rising up

like super-heated air,
the mirage on blacktop,

contrails, first stars
and crescent moons before the sun

even sets, too full, too
full, what hour could contain this

May 21

Late late morning
a ripple on the lake

a standing wave
or complicated wake

two lizards sunning
themselves

and not much else
to say, calm

and soft here, East
of the mountains

I watch descents:
parasails, quails

the crescent day moon
the onerous ray of sun

and spare a thought
for yours:

did your crampons bite?
did the pack give way? Alone

in the shade of static,
fixed hills, I wonder, and wait.

May 20

more wilderness here
in a square foot

than home
already hotter

than predicted
these clouds

look like a child
drew them

and incessant songbirds
insisting it’s not

summer yet
that we are still

arriving
such a strange

place
this year is

given in to longing
at every margin

still snow in the passes
and this baslamroot spent

May 13

Flower moon milk moon
strange weather

these days
which came first

the sun or all
this rain

the gingko come back
overnight it seems

or maybe I’ve
been away

wet footings
insubstantial sleep

.

flower moon milk moon
must exert some tide

some pull a dream
some days can seem

more real but still
recedes

electric green
leaves convulsing

in the wind
thunder predicted

and waiting as giving

.

milk moon flower moon
what sort of stupid

names the moon is a cold
dead rock held fixed

in place in space
by solveable equations

this spring succor
contrived I suppose

and the white sand line
at low tide nothing like

exposed bone or tendon
manufactured exquisiteness

and waiting as taking

.

flower moon milk moon
lost on a drive back

a change of direction
and it fell off the horizon