today everything I know is somewhere else except that the ivy has been trying to come through window I remember the last time I crawled through a window that was Mexico though, with the moon low over the sea and the slow procession of turtles … Continue reading somewhere else
the question, always the same, and the answer is that there are so many blessed nowheres she says she'll have to find me when I finally get that car, when I finally succumb to go she knows that I can write about birds for only … Continue reading roundabouts nowhere
I am not much at peace these days nothing sleeps, not even the stone of the mountain, though I find I can slow my heart the nearer I am to its sky-graced peak to be alone here is to be still from the rigors of … Continue reading that the mountain is
it must be March - this morning the quince blooms and two crows sit on the porch rail trading gentle preenings between them, beside me, while I am sipping rapidly cooling coffee and reading my tattered Milosz, thinking about how even black might just be … Continue reading reading Milosz on the porch in March
the house finches have changed their song again - to one of fierce joy, of emphatic nest-lust it seems almost too soon for such passion, with snow still gathered, blue in the shadows of the north-facing stones then again, some songs exist simply to remind … Continue reading the house finches
have you seen how hope gathers at the edge of pain? how like first light, it graces the thin lip of the ridge before sweeping wholesale down the slope? how sometimes it is slow to gather, and even slower to rise up over the noise … Continue reading have you seen how hope…
when in February, I perch on the cuttingly cold stones of the old front steps, I tell no one passing by that I sit in awed admiration that one plum chooses now to bloom I tell no one stopping by - how we both of … Continue reading “when in February, I perch…”
