April 2

comment 1

Spring snow, heavy
from the sun, as one

season slides into
another, jubilant,

inexorable, put on
a happy face and wonder

where has it gone?
No more sloping,

no more gentleness,
whatever I thought

there was, was wrong
and the only way out

is through. Truisms
and robber jays,

ice in the shade.
A refusal

March 15

comment 1

Afternoon as threshold,
precipice. Mid-week,

mid-month, equipoise
and the cry of a woodpecker.

They say the snow’s
all done, and now

that it’s light
later we hacked

back the blueberries
that won’t produce,

taking them down

to the ground,
provoking life

from dormancy,
or: hoping.

An hour later, still,
shears in hand

going at spouts
and suckers

in the bay laurel,
getting dark out,

and cold, still,
to bring order!

An evening act,
as suburb lights

like unblinking eyes
go on one after another

March 11

comments 2

oh encapsulated day
too small and every

meter metered
out bland

as measures

sun in a picture
but in this

distant window
rain the thought

again that
distance is not

mere physics
or even physical

enough corporal
work will teach

you that

February 26

comment 1

late morning, no snow
it may have rained but

is not raining presently
a vacuum cleaner running

somewhere, removing
the evidence, making

it possible to forget.
Somewhere near here

the tide turns away
a gradual recession

you have to stay
and watch to see

but it’s blocks
and blocks away

and not really ocean,
more constrained bay

and I recuse myself
from all sorts subtlety

this morning, bare streets
and indifferent traffic,

turn over in bed
and also turn away

February 25

comments 2

they say snow but
who really knows

a word by itself
doesn’t mean much

joy today
like small shards

of glass, tulips
from the valley,

a busker’s hoarse
song, coarse threads

of sound and color,
saffron in its jar

closed tightly

February 23

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and dreaming of artichokes

with fine threads
and coarse skin

otherwise this
winter might

devour me, at night
looking up spreads

muhammara, peppers,
roasted red, Aleppo,

the roughest cut
of salt, cumin

earthy as dirt,
rude scallions, but

in just the right
amount, tempered,

a counterpoint,
what lasts?

rehearsals for
the inevitable,

blue-blooded kale
and enough lemons

to drown out
the world, citrus

affront, oil
and pith, shock,

doctrine, if life
gives, you make

February 22

comments 4

Does an emptiness
attract more space

or manufacture it
one or the other

such a nice day
after all, cold, clear

elevator affability
and sunlight

drawing in

except those
cherished words

not anymore
through unthinking

neglect or
something more

one or the other

and would it even

it may snow

a line is drawn
never benign

no, this much
but not a breath more

a love gone

February 21

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infinita tristeza
again and again

on the radio
a soft rain

walking up the hill
llorar, he’s singing

about the sea
a slow walk

with too much time
to think

viento de Washington
he sings as if he knows

you’d roll your eyes
like you always do

so stingy with words
I’d disagree Manu

en cuanto a la tristeza
it’s a desert only

and dying of thirst
but yes, slowly

February 20

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cold clear morning
and nowhere to be

morning to noon
more sun on the patio

hors place
hors de combat

curling on TV
all yesterday

and today
watching a rock

go and then
come to a stop

and then go
again when

another rock
hits it

incomprehensible terms
but that seems to be

the gist of it
an object at rest

tends to stay
at rest unless acted upon

by some outside force
the sun pooling in

through the closed
french doors

February 19

comments 2

Mornings up North
the roar of central heat

drowning out the creek
a sign of life

in a sleeping house.
Light rain, the snow all

melted three days ago,
it had lingered a while.

A drab bird turns and turns
in the holly, but nothing

else stirs. Read the news
but then thought better

of it. The same evergreens
here as home. Sometimes

a small distance is

and preferable.
Sometimes rueful,

cold, intractable.
Some clouds

drift up, dissipate
on arrival.