Gloaming
I don't know what that word means
but I know how it feels
My ears hear it and it tells
The neurons something
I don't know if it's rightly known
but it doesn't matter anyways
My heart is tied now
To the all unknown
the overwhelm and the volume and the vastness of the world
tiny next to the vastness of the universe and the long long time
of light-years and wondering are we all alone or full of company because if it's a numbers game who would ever know
Kindness is all that matters
and like her sister she's leaving
as a different tribe and a wild thing
the mycelium leaving behind
roots in the old uncertain tree
tracing lines into the heart
Even though she hates to know it might die
Until then I am the sword and the fire
who has known not battle, secret
but stares straight into it's hell
imagining the worst
so as to save the sweetest most tender
wondering at the test
knowing full well it might fail
on the waters of the San Juan
but I'll be damned if I don't try
Lead or old age,
spend it well
Goodbye, just for now
I remember the fire the most
that hardens the steel
strong but brittle
Then quenching
The red hot heat
magnetism gone
Later slow warming
Inside the heart
expanding open
brittleness softens
to the color of straw
arching back
Clear as a day
with a gentle rain
swaying a tall oak
Dreaming of Hammers
hickory handles and wrought steel anvils
hot coals and sparks
and the wind of a tuyere
A slug of steel and a blueprint in the minds eye
that smells like swisher sweets
and half ton gasoline
To red waxy clay and oil paints
prisms of color lead
wooden bases for bronze
Unbidden
The birds sing and the sky dims
False dusk is coming
And a regal old fat ass robin sits on the pigpen fence
The buzz files through my brain
The malt is strong with this one
And the sinking sun makes me think of times long since
The old man and the sea and me
The line and tug and scales and bone
And the thinking son takes me back to the past long tense
Where the white bass roamed and rock bass hid under shelves of stone
Post Vise
Rust and pitting
and you grind it all down
Till you see the shiny metal again
wipe it with boiled linseed oil
To keep it pretty
It sat, like me outside
in that “Heavy Marine Air”
next to a cold forge
And I rusted and got pitted
The days past me by
until she sank me in vinegar
and ground me down
I'm not stripped bare yet
but I see my metal again
lots of work to do
until I can bend hot steel again
Fire the forge and make what I want to make
The Room
Eve told me about it
filled my mind with space like water
and overflowing
openness
Strange because it's mine
and she didn't live there
but she knew
openness
Creation floods through me
with wind in the firs their needles green
Faraway maps
openness
In that openness...
A high vaulted ceiling
books all the way up on all sides
Ancient library ladders
Two leather bound chairs
and ottomans
desks broad and made of cherry
wheeled chairs, plush and easy for arms
Stained glass mural
double doors to the garden
And no clock
Barrel Racer
She learned to ride
without a saddle
on a chestnut mare
hands wrapped in mane
falling off
and getting back up again
A young cowboy
at the rodeo found her
and she married him
On the day I wore red
he went home
to take care of those white horses
She's rounding the last barrel
mad that her horse is failing
but I can see that young cowboy
waiting at the end
to hold her horse
help her down
kiss her and take her home
The High Abutment of Mur Than
Melting snow into mud
my sleep is weary
and my mind is off
I dream of the high Abutment of Mur Than
jutting from a cliff
Into the darkest clouds
and fell rain
on cliffs granite
awake mind
sees the sun stare down
and dry the mud
Sad Songs
With my troubles all in tow
I listen to these songs and they eat at me
she used to ask why I woke up so
quiet mornings drag me low
That hurt sings to me
about the world and the things I see
for the lives heard
and the people unseen
To feel their sting
salt my eyes from that strongest sea
of the people known or not to me
so dial the contrast up on that old TV
When it's black and white
boiling the blackest tea
inside of white stone pottery
scented tendrils of steam
Coat the sweetness in my nose
those roses always distracted me
and I know again
where help is needed most
In that help, sweetness
more than honey
Twilit
The sun left a tracer
as broad as the horizon
The wind took the clouds
as a current on a tide
Frogs chirp the midwinter song
until breeze shuffles needles
the firs dancing
The morning sun sent leads
scanning through the dark
when the owls call
and the rabbits scatter