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
May 1
At the laundermat
police up the street
corraled bikes
like spilt jacks
across Pike street
mostly quiet for now
the insustrial
-sized drier
cranks on and off
gas-powered
round-doored
highest capacity.
All day helicopters
in droning flight
half fly, half
vulture
it keeps coming
back to mouths
to feed, inches
given and miles
of streets,
some feet,
some footnotes, people
don’t realize, you know, if
you think about it,
why?
a quote,
lamentably,
and a false entreaty.
Papered windows
just in case.
We put the quarter
in the slot, and
another, and another.
In every thing, a hunger.
The dryer kicks
on again, the mass
of sheets comes undone,
and in this tree
a robin sings
in a spray of
new buds and leaves
and in that other
world it’s spring
April 25
and then a silence
becomes unspeakable
spring rain gentle
except for when it is not
complacency split up
by unusual intermissions
damp green and watery
themes the creek up
the lake spilling
its bounds each leaf
recoiling back
to how it was
or wasn’t
can this transition
be considered
status quo
how a season
always goes
transience
in object definitions
always a before
even these mountains
and the expectation
of after
breaths collect
in cool damp air
seen for a moment
a brief thought, that weight–
