**Poetry: The Fox

 The fox came back, scurrying

with something caught,

some fresh rodent or fowl. 

He has visited four times now, 

seeking. Or this time- intent-

red in tooth and claw.

Meanwhile, the tiger in my bed
is plump, ignorant

of the risk of survival.

She relies

on regular feedings

to satiate her hunger.

Though perhaps in dreams- 

there may still be-

a corpuscular craving

the desire of flesh

to take life whole-

wild and open-mouthed. 

**Poetry: Blessings

Blessings are everywhere

If you look for them:

eight white tails 

leaping backwards through the forest;

A flutter of blue jays 

from tree to tree ; 

the bovine lowing 

mournful in some distant shed;

It is all here and now- 

like the scent of pine from needles that have dropped

and fall’s startling display transformed to umber

Each snapshot you capture 

is a shadowy film 

of miracle and wonder:

a night sky 

black

      and dripping with stars

the heart’s leap of delight– 

and nothing we will ever, ever possess. 

Poetry: After the End

 Imagine you came to the end of the world. 

And kept on walking. 

What else could you do? 

When you had counted all your pennies,

and allotted each to its own tax. 

The king’s horsemen arrived 

to pick up what was never yours

and carry it away

in golden caskets

that fit in the palm

of a hand

And you are left only 

with your two feet

Steady.

And your breath-

though it is getting harder

to breathe

the air now-

you will continue

after the end

to persevere.

**Poetry: Evergreen

 Evergreen

 Not queen anne’s lace - 

          or baby’s breath-

but evergreen 

 -fir and pine-

rooted

in virgin snow. 

Her needles and branches,

the tall straight spine

this is how you measure time.

White roses in glass vases die, 

but rings

 of the spruce carve 

years into wood.

The tree receives- and gives-

the giving way that is life.

Termites and centipedes

suck the marrow of her pole.

Is this what it means

 to be tethered

 to this earth- 

 the cones of imagination

 bearing our future kin?

Bristles nod in the wind:

breathe out (and in)

 so that all of us- 

entwined like roots-

 may live. 

Poetry- July 22

 

At six months, I return to the words,

my world so full of other sounds now- 

 purring cat,

the incessant hiss of air,

our breathing

heavy with pleasure.

As if we ever needed language

to tell this story-

I drink you in with mouth 

and eyes.

You- in the doorway, your voice lilting 

upward like a leaf wanting sun, 

You- reciting a sonnet,

a flip of hair 

across your brow.

No words

between us 

now.

Poetry: February, Part 2

 

February, Part 2

The convenience store aisles

declare love:

something that melts

on the tongue 

like snowflakes

that vanish

faster than they fall.

We could lose ourselves

in tender distraction

toss aside language

for touch,

pausing only for a moment

to wonder 

if this wandering is a lure 

toward sugar-coated dreams.

Or- if we are lucky-

something that lasts

longer than chocolate-

like a blessing

or the way home.

**Poetry: February

 February 

The quiet will lure you
into thinking the world is one. 

But even the present is not singular-

It holds what is gone
ensconced beneath ice and snow,

tucked in to the roots
of a tulip tree
that has stood here longer
than any of these gray squirrels

seeking shelter there now. 

The ewe keens 
while giving birth- 

for what is lost lingers
still in the new. 

Everything leans into belonging-
and fears surrender.

You could stop here, pause, 

try to barricade yourself

from the enmeshed world. 

But branches continue anyway

to declare
honest praise for the sky.

A cardinal dashes
red feathers
regardless
of risk

and the solitary skunk
curls in to the body
of another.

February knows you could die
here alone, frozen,

or love--

the winter survived only
by what we will do for warmth.