Monday, March 25, 2019

HAWK FACES 


Hawk faces
the setting sun.

Evening comes
behind him.

He knows loss.
Sometimes

enough is
not enough.

Sometimes
it is too much.

Depends on
which way you've

turned and when
you've eaten.



Sunday, March 24, 2019

HAWK WATCHES 


Hawk watches.
His patience

waits. Hunger
is a sharp-

eyed teacher,
stillness the

hunter's friend.
When the time

is right, wind
will lift him,

the mouse will
say, Sweet death,

be sudden.



Saturday, March 23, 2019

MAKING THINGS 


It is the wear of the world
which makes each thing. This shovel

would not be this shovel but
for the work which shaped it.

That path through the grass would not
be that path but for the feet

which walked it into the earth.
All things come in due time as

we mark them with our touch,
as our insistence rubs them

from the idea of thing
to this very real suchness

now showing in front of us.
It's not the naming them but

the working them which makes them.



Friday, March 22, 2019

HAWK 


He drives the sky
who flies red-tailed
towards sunset.

Not wind so much
as wisdom carries
him to evening.

All day is every
day as he takes it,
as darkness comes

and each moment
blesses him.



Thursday, March 21, 2019

MORNING AND 


Morning and I am
going home. The mountains
move away from me.



Wednesday, March 20, 2019

STARS HAVE 


Stars have died
to give us

the elements
which make this

life this life.
Honor those

dead, the stars.



Tuesday, March 19, 2019

EVENING 


A redness at its edges, the hawk
above the field, upon the failing

light and wind. I see him. I see
all of them. Not to pay attention

would be to lose my way and it's
too late for that. It's too late for

denying I'm only one more
stone thrown against the darkening.



Monday, March 18, 2019

WIND SLAMS 


Wind slams crow
and crow can-

not go home,
could not go,

even if
he knew where

home might be.



Sunday, March 17, 2019

THIS MORNING 


This morning
the world does

not need me
to sing it.

Once again
it sings it-

self into
being and

it sings me
in too. Sun

comes up, same
as always.



Saturday, March 16, 2019

THE END 


The end
is every

beginning.
I cannot

believe
my atoms

will not be
stars again.



Friday, March 15, 2019

FREEDOM 


Water runs
where it wants.

It has no
other choice.



Thursday, March 14, 2019

SENSE OR 


Sense or
nonsense --

the sound
of words,

not their
meaning.



Wednesday, March 13, 2019

FRIENDSHIP 


I am an
unreliable

friend, except
to trees and stars

and hawks when
they will have me.



Tuesday, March 12, 2019

100 CRANES 


One hundred
sandhill cranes
grey on the
grey fields in
this grey

season
when all things
fly away
and nothing
flies towards.



Monday, March 11, 2019

ONLY THESE 


Only these
few things

the heart holds
make a world:

the old pine
which keeps its

place; the red-
tail hawk at

home wherever
it is; the sand-

hill cranes gone
grey now, late

in the season;
the stone and

dirt of earth;
the grasses.

Why only
these? Why not

also ask
the poet

who knows love
and loss and

everything
between darkness

and trembling.



Sunday, March 10, 2019

WHERE THE HAWK 


Where the hawk
is, death

follows. That's
how he makes

a living,
how we keep

on, all
of us one

step ahead
of dying.



Saturday, March 09, 2019

THE COLD BLUE SILENCE 


Ah, yes, the cold
blue silence once

again. Low sun
on empty fields.

Nothing holds so
much as evening's

promise. Nothing
holds so little

as darkness in
the hardened heart.



Friday, March 08, 2019

NOW THE DARKNESS 


Now the darkness.
How cold it comes,

earlier. Wind.
All things hunkered

down. These short days
are all we get.

The fuse burns low.
The birds gone, most

of them. Winter
is not far off.

What the hopeless
hope for: longer

light, a pagan
fire, a way to

carry on, and
into, and through.



Thursday, March 07, 2019

ONE CROW 


One crow is lone crow.
One crow is all of them.

This sun, this wind, this
shine off him: every sun,

every shine, every distance.
The way he walks, the way

he lifts, the way he settles
down belong to all

of them. Today's news:
every crow sits with me.



Wednesday, March 06, 2019

THE WEIGHT 


The weight we carry,
the accumulation

of sorrows, the losses,
the could-have-beens,

the what-ifs, and then --
suddenly -- the darkness

takes us and all
falls away and

what mattered doesn't.



Tuesday, March 05, 2019

WIND AND CROW 


Wind in
the high
branches.

Somewhere
Crow
holds on.

He holds
on. That's all
we know.



Monday, March 04, 2019

SEAGULL 


Seagull turned,
turned again--

the wind is
not his friend.



Sunday, March 03, 2019

LONG MORNING LIGHT 


Long morning light on these flat winter fields.
The moon hangs in the west yet.
The world hurls itself against the wind.

This is the way it ends.



Saturday, March 02, 2019

SPARROWHAWK 


Sparrowhawk
against the wind,

sun against
the shine of him.

Winter takes
what it wants.

We are left
with this harsh

light, with his
faltering.


Friday, March 01, 2019

HAWK 


Hawk
a bright

spark
of it

atop
his perch,

This bit
of life

we've got,
briefly.

The mouse
who waits.



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