
Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
How in heaven the old
How in heaven the old appears first
for the sake of recognition –
your gaunt frame and thinning hair,
the soft blue veins on the back of your hand.
We’ll need to be sure.
We’ll have to hear the little cough in your throat first,
before we’ll know we’re there.
Driving to the sky

Light show, exaltation of bugs and dust
Darting and grabbing
gulping and dying
Once more to the lake

The big scramble for money
Souls a hardening mess in a crappy little pan
Cabin

Backyard birds
The slate-colored junco,
the pine siskin,
the dipper, the catbird,
the chukar and starling,
and you and me and our many
winglit warbly ways.
Washington apples

I love being up early
I love making the coffee and thinking of my grandmother.
I love how a kitchen light can be
the only light in the house,
and a clock the only sound.
I used to wake to it.
Now I make it for others.