Our Lady of the Desert, and of the Sea. It has been brought to the edge, the edge of something big, but still barely out of view. Even craning my neck, it is just around the corner.
But the corner is still the corner, and it will not straighten out for me,
even if asked politely. Even Our Lady of the Corner cannot change this. Our Lady of the Tall Trees, is around the corner.
Ah! She is beautiful. A sight to behold, no doubt. Like the Queen of the garden, in her robes of lettuce, and crown of rice.
Dinner is served. Elam’s Kitchen
Knoxville, Tennessee
October 15, 2009 Only As Everything It is very troublesome being grown up.
No more muddy feet, no more awakening.
Not in the sense of itself, only in the context of ‘other’.
Everything flawed reveals itself. Everything reveals itself.
Eventually flaw falls away, into the category of ‘stuff’ and ‘thing’.
Then everything is revealed again, this time only as everything. I-75 South
N. Georgia
October 2009 How She’ll Go Fall is bare!
I had seen Winter’s shoulder through the limbs.
Delicately draping herself on the valley floor.
Summer’s shattered light can fall undeterred to pierce the earth, stuck upright.
This is not an outrage, she has by blessing to lie naked.
Naked is how she came, naked is how she’ll go. West Virginia
October, 2009 Day Is At Home For Day to break, it must have once been whole.
How glorious is a full Day, uninterrupted!
The fingers of Night have no right here. Songbirds will sing, and birdsong will ring, in the ears of all worldly things!
But Day is not broken! Nor will it ever be.
Day is at home in the sky. Day is at home, sleeping. When day wakes, say ‘Good Morning.’ Chris and Suzanne’s Kitchen
Somerville, Massachusetts
October, 2009 The Little Rivers of Sweet There was a little left, in the silver moat – around the bottom.
Like the last sip of root beer, and it left my hands all sticky. A very heavy heel has landed, and it made that perfect noise.
A deeply quenching crunch – simple – but I have been floored, bleeding my syrupy remains on the concrete that was swept years ago.
Now it has flowed into the valleys made by straw, and an army of thirsty ants is steadily descending upon the little rivers of sweet. I-93 Northbound
New Hampshire
November 8, 2009 Am It Senseless? Am it senseless?
Or is it full?
Did it makes sense?
I thought nought. The Sanctuary House
Seattle, Washington
August 17, 2010 Time Hooves On It just keeps on dripping.
Drip, drop, clip, clop…
Time hooves on.
Time’s hooves dawn no shoes or socks.
Leather on neck or steel on tongue wield no power. New York City
October, 2009 Fish I do like to fish.
It is a pleasure I have only recently begun to embrace.
I especially like to catch pickled herring on poppy seed. New York City
October, 2009 You Are Morning
Early creaks. Early cheeks.
Early groan. Early knees.
A child and a home. What birds? And what bees?
In this good winter you find comfort. You needn’t smile child – just do not weep and cry.
In this good winter you are warm. You needn’t smile child – for Time will never fail!
Be a bundle. It is morning. Wait to kindle.
You are morning. You’ve assumed nothing!
You know all worth knowing.
The Attic
Bothell, Washington
December, 2009 Boarding the Kingston Ferry They’ve got Washington plates.
They’ve all got Washington plates.
But yet, here I sit,
with a twenty-five year old sunburn and an aversion to water, waiting to board.
I’m curious if everyone is as confused as I am-
I am. Edmonds Ferry Terminal
Edmonds, Washington
October 28th, 2010
Waddling up with suspenders taut, and unlaced boots- tongues flopped over. I saw the Christmas lights in the square get lit, during a grim, 4 O’Clock dusk, painstakingly, one at a time. It’s sunny again today, and the geese are out, flying around the sky, pointing over toward something I can’t quite see. Just over the horizon, the sea to the North, the sea to the South. Give thanks.
But not too much.
You don’t want to run dry. Lochwinnoch,
Renfrewshire, Scotland
November 22nd, 2011 Assured, Necessary Winter The cattails have doubled over. Most of what is softer, or greener or more supple,
has just become completely submissive altogether.Any frost bears a burden. October, November, December, January, February
No partiality. A crisp, crinkly veneer with a soft, green center now sweeter than ever.
The cities still hum, with the occasional gasp and shiver. But they fight it, and they do not ever give up.
The cities’ winter dragoons. Salt and shovels and boilers and central heating and de-icing fluid and radiators and
snow plows and down parkas and studded snow tires and windshield wipers
and the calendar with next summer’s vacation already marked in, with that purple pen that sits by the telephone. All the while, theprairies
and the bluffs
and the knolls
and the oceans
and the deserts
and the mountains
and the rivers lie gracefully down, and gently nestle in,
with a slow anticipation of another assured, necessary winter. Barr Loch,
Renfrewshire, Scotland
Thanksgiving day, 2011
Bothell, Washington
December, 2009 Boarding the Kingston Ferry They’ve got Washington plates.
They’ve all got Washington plates.
But yet, here I sit,
with a twenty-five year old sunburn and an aversion to water, waiting to board.
I’m curious if everyone is as confused as I am-
I am. Edmonds Ferry Terminal
Edmonds, Washington
October 28th, 2010
Thanksgiving Thanksgiving is coming.
Waddling up with suspenders taut, and unlaced boots- tongues flopped over. I saw the Christmas lights in the square get lit, during a grim, 4 O’Clock dusk, painstakingly, one at a time. It’s sunny again today, and the geese are out, flying around the sky, pointing over toward something I can’t quite see. Just over the horizon, the sea to the North, the sea to the South. Give thanks.
But not too much.
You don’t want to run dry. Lochwinnoch,
Renfrewshire, Scotland
November 22nd, 2011 Assured, Necessary Winter The cattails have doubled over. Most of what is softer, or greener or more supple,
has just become completely submissive altogether.Any frost bears a burden. October, November, December, January, February
No partiality. A crisp, crinkly veneer with a soft, green center now sweeter than ever.
The cities still hum, with the occasional gasp and shiver. But they fight it, and they do not ever give up.
The cities’ winter dragoons. Salt and shovels and boilers and central heating and de-icing fluid and radiators and
snow plows and down parkas and studded snow tires and windshield wipers
and the calendar with next summer’s vacation already marked in, with that purple pen that sits by the telephone. All the while, theprairies
and the bluffs
and the knolls
and the oceans
and the deserts
and the mountains
and the rivers lie gracefully down, and gently nestle in,
with a slow anticipation of another assured, necessary winter. Barr Loch,
Renfrewshire, Scotland
Thanksgiving day, 2011