Winter 2007

First dawn of winter –
pale blue sky with rose margin –
a few mourning doves


Shadows in sunshine
all of those whom I have lost
shadows in sunshine

Blue Jay

Blue jay in the fog
as if the sky had escaped
from captivity

In Fog

Every water bird
in fog seems a part of dream
and the white dog, too


White dog disperses
coots – thunderous the applause
of rising lobed toes


I’ve wandered so much
I’ve lost hope of mapping where
I’ve been, where I am

Dream Sea

I’m sleepy and want
to drift down into dream sea
to become a fish

Like Thirst

Sun slakes appetite
like thirst after grey days
and changes my mind


Do I hold my grief
or does my grief carry me?
Where are we going?


Hidden in the mist
myriad geese are squawking –
then the beat of wings

Great Blue

Great blue heron makes
the ugliest squawk as he
launches into fog


I’m trying to guess
what’s the meaning of all this –
I’m fifteen again


Red buds on green canes
of wild roses in winter –
spring is coiled to spring

Look Out

What I see when I
look out my windows depends
on what is inside

Think Less

I want to think less
but shadows are suggestive
even in half light

Oak Smoke

The smell of oak smoke
under a gray wintry sky –
I am burning, too

My Forest

Contradictions are
the pillars, beams of my house,
wood of my forest

Bowl Games

New Year’s Day football
at once leashes, unleashes
the savage in me


Finishing a year,
starting anew – just the work
done by an instant


Shot from morning’s bow,
arrowheads of geese over
the crest of the hill

A Black Stick

White dog wades river,
finds a black stick to chew on,
declares happiness


Murmuring burning
our old oak in the fireplace
gives tongues to lost years


I learned by watching
I could not say what I saw
but it became me


What’s witless wanders,
what has wits wonders – and these
two come together

Not Imitation

Not imitation,
but another dimension,
like silence fiction

Cold Far

The moon never speaks –
cold far mirror sees nothing –
I can’t stop dreaming


The wholesale florist
is next door to the prison –
scents escape with ease


As evening comes down
I’m living in a lush hush –
a star shoots at me

Another Season

Another season’s
sun shines today, as if the spring
simply couldn’t wait


A line of white tails
quivering with each quick bound
across the black stream


Pebbles in the stream
become smoothed without knowing
anything at all

On The Wire

Squirrel on the wire
pauses to sniff snowy air,
then goes on crossing


My old friend’s dying
as I am too, only he’s
quicker than I am

Just This Once

Man is the flower
who blooms thinking, “Just this once
and never again”

Old Eyes

Old eyes, new wonder –
ducks dozing on the harbor
in January


Sex invented us,
not the other way around –
but we make it new

Skirts Of Ice

Rocks in skirts of ice
sit like Buddha in the lake
under winter sun


Art is artifact,
unless it is fact, just as
rock is rock, sky, sky


Rotting in the ground,
my parents are preserved now
between my temples

My Parents

I mourn my parents
in each breath that fans the fire
of my extinction

Gray Rainy

Like gray rainy days
fatigue steals something away –
the inner sunlight

Mind’s Eye

Midwinter mind’s eye
sees the weeping cherry tree
in full pink blossom

Bursts Of Breath

The world in my mind
will die with me, save it live
in these bursts of breath


When the wake is gone,
then the vessel disappears –
ocean’s all that’s left

Dark Coots

Thousands of dark coots
still as print on the blue page
of this winter lake


A featureless day
a gray sky in a gray mood –
purr, question mark cat


Just before leap day
sudden scent of spring in the air –
I’m trying to bud

Each New day

Older each new day
my puzzlement is deeper,
light as a feather


Nothing to relate
save for the sly happenstance
of formless moments

Foggy Days

Understanding was
the great passion of my youth –
now I’m one with fog

Dead Wood

The wind goes howling
through the almost waking oaks
so dead wood spears fly

Alonzo King

I watch the dancers
and want to live twenty times,
no, ninety more times


Warm day catapults
the first plum trees into bloom –
life and death, again

One More

It keeps happening –
I’m becoming someone else,
one more impostor


I’m pursuing you
through all your hills and valleys
and I am tiny

Tree Frogs

Tree frogs are piping
before St. Patrick’s own day,
quite drunk on spring green

This Side

This side of sixty
early spring’s more delicate,
red buds, ravishing

Coming, Going

Each day’s one less day,
each new day is one more day –
I’m coming, going

Sheen Of Pearl

I can own nothing
and nothing can possess me –
sky the sheen of pearl

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