A small cloud on the cliff
above the railroad tracks—
the shadbush is in bloom.
As I drive up the hollow on
our one-lane road, a red-tailed hawk
passes me going down.
All the spring ephemerals are emerging,
leaves wrinkled and damp
like freshly pitched tents.
Inside a cloud moved
rapidly by the wind,
I catch a whiff of wood smoke.
All the tracks have melted through,
erasures that say only
that something was there—
except for the trees,
still marooned on the same
round islands.
Clouds pull their shadows
across the snow-filled valley
as if dragging for a drowned swimmer.
I watch from the ridge,
mesmerized by the alternation
of gloom and glare.
The No Hunting sign rattles
on the electric pole
above the deep claw-marks of bears.
The long, low ridges
in the blue distance are edged
with bands of yellow.
Otherwise, the clouds
are heavy as an old
wool blanket.
I pull the shades for a nap,
a wakeful woodchuck thumping
under my floor.
A falling leaf
reversed course
& flew.
It sailed up
over the trees
& didn’t stop until
it reached a forest
inside a cloud
in Panama.
You were left
with a double loss:
of the leaf it wasn’t
& of the bird it was.
On the ground
where the leaf
would’ve settled,
In her image the sun made me
round and ornately petaled,
burning and erupting
in feathery plumes. Don’t stare!
I was the Sun King.
Shadows radiated away from me
like the teeth of my enemies
strung on a reckless necklace.
That’s not a mugger’s knife
but a prisoner of earth’s desperate attempt
to pick my lock. I was, after all,
the state. Why must I now perform
for the forgotten and forgettable?
Why have I not limped like a blimp
into the humped clouds? I can’t seem
to shake this legacy of lead,
as though through clouds
i see you blurred
in a big crowd
all my words slurred
I'm a day dreamer,
My heads in the clouds,
But when I fall down,
Won't you be my solid ground,
I tend to block people out,
I'm hard to reach,
So when I put up another wall,
Just break them all,
I find it hard to laugh,
I'm not easy to crack,
But when you can tell it's been awhile,
Do anything to make me smile,
Many have tried,
Many have failed,
I'm hard to love,
Becasue you have to do all of the above,
After I finish
scribing him through my keyboard
the gas man plods on.
Sun in the right spot
to light up King Street Station
sloped roof, shiny green.
In the middle lane,
in the middle of the lane,
one lone prone ladder.
Blind man folds dried laundry
his long cane propped on a slant
against the doorway.
For a split second
I thought she was calling
to say she loves me.
Feeling Lester’s ghost
There in the courtyard
Spending my time
Here in the glaring sun
Sat at a table
Not really able
To tell when the day is done
Frankly, it's wild
Much like an ocean
The waves on the rise
Constantly in motion
Here I am swimming
Hoping to stay
Trying real hard not to drift away
So here I sit now
Sadly alone
Watching the clouds go by
The Sun looks lonely…
Then again it has the Clouds,
Like the Moon has Stars.
Clouds,
Wish I was you,
Can enjoy every second of the scenery,
Free to go anywhere,
No one asks why or scolds you,
They even praises you for your beauty,
Wish I was you.