The Waiting Time
I have a season for waiting
when the sun is low in the sky
and the rain doesn't stop for days
In the time of waiting
my restlessness grows like garlic bulbs
poking out of the ground
In those days of waiting
I find the other things and make plans
of the days to come
When the waiting ends
I'm ready for the sun to be high in the sky
and the rain stops for days
I drove down the hill
I drove down the hill
next to the lake
and saw the big timber in mist
I nearly cried
The wild places
So far away
from my tame home
Tied my heart
The stones speak to me
of the time long ago
when the rivers were full
The Sea
The sea calls me home every day and I don't understand
Umanaya calls me and the sand gets in my toes
and the breakers are long out into the bars
behind them the swells hide the light
and the sun boils into the red
with the wind in your face
burning your cheeks
and you feel the done
A Mother and two Daughters
I love hearing them happy
Sweetness in the air
Like honey in my nose
Like house sparrows singing
On the edge of a garden
I love the sound, it makes me happy
July 4th
The beer rolls over my tongue
before it waves over my mind
gently because it's been a long time
and everyone is napping
The world is in first gear
working to get off the dime
from a surprise stop-sign
octagonal red
It makes the bog sleepy
and that's how I like it
the hammock in the garden
while the tomatoes try to set fruit
But I don't like why it's sleepy
or the knees on the necks
of good people
Goddamn I'm Thin
My emotions stretched out
drawn around the posts and signs
pulling tighter
To bounce with a pop
but damnit don't break
Singing
The sapsucker sang at the peak of the roof
carelessly ignoring me
and most all of humanity
only grateful for a high perch
Spring
Spring hasn't sprung but it's getting closer
seeds in the ground marks my season
sun on the porch and the songs of robins and sparrows
We're all home now, like the old days before cars
and in each other's space
and I can't stretch my legs enough except
When I haul the lumber to the garden
knees in soft soil, dark brown and caked
sweat falling off my face
bruises on my shoulders
Bare new kiln dried wood smells like work
and new things
But the bog will eat it over time
and until then
It will hold back the canary grass
While seeds are sewn
February Rain
Glossy faceted lights
halogen and filament and led
poke and bounce around the gray sky
the crystal clear drops clinging to windows are
gemstones in the gravel
taste of the wind
in my nose
seasalt
Silk
It happens fast
and you don't know it
because you're the frog
and not the cook
The sled runs downhill
like it's on rails
but it doesn't
cook that way
And the brakes burn
acrid ozone
in your nose
but you crank into the turn