So it wasn’t death, deathless bird,
weeks later hopping in our yard.
It was a condition of which I’d never heard:
a bird’s days wingless and catless.
Tag Archives: poetry
When they took Christ from his cross and put up the wizard instead
(Thinking he was the scarecrow –
Nailing straw to a post –
Tears in the toilet (a weird crying)
Head against the cabinet
That squishy feeling
Tears popping
The little splash
Love, or Why do we cup to keep what never runs out?
If it should flow through us like water
(it does),
wetting every cell as it goes,
why not ride this living means to be boundless,
and say goodbye to our hard little pool?
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.
Light show, exaltation of bugs and dust
Darting and grabbing
gulping and dying
The big scramble for money
Souls a hardening mess in a crappy little pan
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.
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.
What the Dutch know (signs in the park)
Don’t let children pee in the water.
Only clean butts in the pool.
