…the Sea and all her ships
are women you are too certain of —
who would not marry you for love.
the sky is iron, rusting
round the edges; ravens settle like scorched
pages in the oak
The upper third color field
is all tin flash, ocean blue shoulders and tics.
That wide mid-brown crossed by shine is sand
and fresh water going home.
in the woods below the house by the stream when suddenly I thought, Why write another thing about the woods or stream or sky as I have for years? Why … Continue reading
…always the sun failed again
for the evening, and the short grass fell dull
in the shadows, out of the slant-light.
is interloper, is fur of russet
and iron, is light-footed, is real
in my alley
I weep easily and often
now for the world.
headlights painting streaks of rain
on my pale window, and still
the torrent comes faster, faster—bluster, leak,
I wish I could say
I lay your body under the honeysuckle
the day you crossed over, let vine and wisp
hang nectar all around you.
The first week in the first year of the plague,
when we told ourselves there was no plague,
the flowers were more than willing
to confirm our opinion.
‘Tis wealth enough of joy for me
In summer time to simply be.
we wriggled and followed
the path upstream,
coigned in its armbends, whinsill, lime,
humped heather, deer grass
As a child
I combed black rocks of a jetty
prying starfish from pools