it’s those in between days
now the shock of cold
at dawn but then the old
familiar heat
red flag watch east
of the Cascades
the fires taking off late
the spiders out early
even instinct stupefied
it’s time to accept
the tomatoes on the vine
have gone mealy and sour
there is a cost
to holding out too long
a loss in holding on
I take the chicken wire
off the garden beds
and let the rabbits feast
they were all flickering
like moth wings
powdery and self-reflexive
befuddled by the light
or the darkness
the enormity of it all
you don’t see people
like that
pale as day moons
voices soft as sunset
sometimes confused
and already receding
leaving the hospital today
the car in front of me
ricocheted and spun
as another car pushed it
across the intersection
until crumpled and steaming
it finally came to rest
these are the things
I wanted to say
but didn’t
silence less a shield
and more a weapon
better to face down loss
than this indifference
This is a language
I can’t fully speak
but clearly
these waves break
the way they break
with intention.
I couldn’t remember
the topography
of this beach, thought rocks
not sand, misplaced
the tree that straddles
the void where the yellow
clay blank was bitten
by the surf, although
I’ve been here many times
as myself, and as someone else.
There must be a shallow bar
where the waves are breaking,
beyond that, the steely water
goes on and out interminably.
And here I thought loss
was the worst thing,
not yet able to fathom
a land beyond expectation.
I watched the bear
in the meadow
and felt no fear
a vignette
at sunset
not really a trait
a descent tomorrow
and already the night
is rough against my skin
animal misgivings
lumbering in the tall grass
the wretched unease of an eve
we took a vow of silence
but it was anything but silent
rivulets of water
and thunder at the base
of the falls—
we tried to find stillness
but it was anything but still
filigree alder leaves
flashing in the breeze
the slow sway of pines
and so we abandoned
absolutes in lieu of ablution
the staggering coldness
of the river
glacier-fed
my heart beating again
I take us out to walk
in the rain
I suppose to shape
your character
but two is autarchic—-
a litany of tribulation
as we walk along
runoff courses
in the gutter
and pools
on the sewer plate
so we fill them
with buttercups
then run away
can’t see the bay
but there’s a river in the sky
the world has gone gray
without distinctions
the ground slick with water
the air thick with water
traffic ground to a halt
ribbons of cars
suspended in motion
above nothing
a bridge is a structure
or something that makes
a connection
this is an assumption
and we’re getting
nowhere fast
early summer motifs:
i
something in the brush
heard but not seen
light conjecture
bird or beast
no conclusion is reached
and everyone proceeds
ii
there are multiple seasons
within the season
nothing blooms all at once
one buds one bolts one rots
even in the most manicured lawn
a wildflower is speaking out of turn
iii
it’s later than it seems
July said with certainty now
long-tongued shadows
a growing lingering heat
addled by the northern sun
we forget the hour
dinner is late again
When does desire
turn into greed
what is an appropriate
allotment of want
unseasonably muggy
in this forest
water has cut
a deep ravine
beneath cedar boughs
through carpets of moss
it funnels and pools
below perfunctory logs
and drops again
resisting direction
this is the work
it cannot be worked at
I know this well
and yet
a great displacement
by such a small bird
mostly beak
and jewel-hued neck—
all other motion
stagnant
below his arcs
craning to look
we are too late
he rifles each page
of the evening sky
etches out some new
invisible rune
cleaves air
from air
we duck again
as chunks of it
come crashing down
OPTIONAL POETRY 