All posts tagged: nature

September 7

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poetry

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 […]

June 18

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poetry

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

June 15

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poetry

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

June 10

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poetry

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

June 7

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poetry

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

June 6

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poetry

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

June 5

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poetry

The heart is not here, it can not, will not, be here— in all this rain, more than we’ve seen in several years. A rabbit darts through the overgrown lawn, now gone to seed, each blade a reproach. What hasn’t been done, what can not, will not. A sparrow ascends, becomes untethered. Motion is sometimes but not always distraction. The clouds oppress but containing is what breaks you. In their garden beds the radishes crack.

May 20

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poetry

To wound the heart is to create it     I felt it flit across the back of my hand before I saw it a fleeting shadow a large spider already gone before the stomach drop the untaught unease I saw another stationed on the orchid’s leathery leaf another where the garden abuts the foundation another tracing the fall line of the shower I leave them alone now some say age make you less tolerant […]

May 12

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poetry

the maple by the window put out leaves stretching down to the shrubs, out to the pines, and aside from all this rain the house is dead quiet, the living room sunken, deluged, submersed, and now something weighty lit on the roof but then took off when I went to look, and now some robin singing, unseen, calling out warnings or conveying relief, obscure, obscured and suffused with green

March 15

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poetry

Today a hummingbird hemming the courtyard corners, hail from slate skies, sun falling in heavy bars, the crack shot drop of a dead branch in the distance, all this wind, if not harbingers, still precisely sounded tones, probably worth noting