Sunday, March 31, 2019
SO THEY SAY
So they say
I cannot be
a great poet
if I don't
touch the great
themes. No,
I say, that
cannot be.
There are
only two
great themes
and I own
them both,
love and loss.
Every morning,
every night,
in darkness,
light, love and
loss are mine.
Saturday, March 30, 2019
THE SWALLOWS
The swallows
are gathering.
Light comes at
a different
angle. The heat
says this is
summer still
but something
has changed. You
know. You can
taste it here
at the edge
this evening.
Friday, March 29, 2019
SMALL TOWN
It is about memory, isn't it, about what
your grandfather did to mine those many
years ago. It is about how nothing
changes, how it stays the same. A stone is
a stone is a stone. About how nothing
is ever done, nothing let go of.
The setting sun never gets to set.
Loneliness in the crowd. About how
nothing is only mine. How our shades
are always up, the windows open. About
the pain of being human, and someone
has to pay, someone always has to pay.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
RHYMES
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
AND WHERE
And where
the light
is, it
vibrates,
or does
not, in
darkness,
and keeps
silence,
which is
when the
stars talk.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
WET SILVER
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
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
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
Friday, March 15, 2019
FREEDOM
Thursday, March 14, 2019
SENSE OR
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
FRIENDSHIP
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
Monday, March 04, 2019
SEAGULL
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
