Friday, November 29, 2013


In November, have you ever seen
a field like this, green
still in its greenest summer
Sunday green
cowdotted (and between
the fourlegs sometimes four legs
more, twigthin and thirsty four,
or dancing twos and fours)
While all around the trees
clap paper leaves,
rustle their Sunday skirts
those saucy girls! they flirt
they flaunt, they sing
newmaidenly -- sing
Eden songs
A breeze snaps
sweet and sassy
at the skirts about their feet
It might be spring --
Sunwarmed, center-chilly
let us, too, leap and sing
such saucy frolicking
such sure doxologies

Thursday, November 14, 2013


(this is not the poem i wanted to write.
I wanted to write --
in beauty, like the night. To write such stars, such blue, such blue, such black -- vangogh swirls against the dying of the light. Such violin-thin wails to pierce your heart -- I wanted
you to read, and ache, and love

me -- Love
me --

Love me in stars pinned up against the night, me crucified

instead i find myself writing the same poem again, over and over,
as i might turn a pebble in my palm -- i murmur:

Terrible --
this world,
and beautiful --

and there are SOULS

--these little vast and heavy things:
they will, when you have forgotten that i writing, still
their own small deep and lovely being)