The first surveyor—1795—
labeled this mountain Violet Hill.
Did he study it in the blue distance,
or see right at his feet
the crowds of violets fluttering
under the attention of the rain?
A warbler just back from the tropics
sings quietly, as if trying to locate
all the notes.
After all-night rain,
the forest floor is soft
and full of give.
A birch log collapses
when I step on it, but the bark
arches back after I pass.
New ferns uncoil,
heads slowly dissolving
into spine and ribs.
A winter wren darts low
over the rushing stream
and unwinds its hurdy-gurdy song.
Not all water-lovers
are bouyant in the same way.
The waterthrush walks
on the bottom, tail bobbing
as if spring-loaded. We stand
dripping in the rain.
It’s the first petrichor of spring—
that musk the soil gives off after rain,
strongest when long delayed.
So who wouldn’t choose
a day like today for dancing?
Side by side, cackling softly,
the two pileated woodpeckers
hitch their way down a tall locust tree
all the way to the ground.
The fire is a thorough & voracious reader.
Page by page my old manuscript turns gray & brittle
& when the mist thickens into rain,
the smoking pile emits a long thin sigh.
A corrugated pipe
that stopped carrying water 20 years ago
after the hillside was clear-cut,
north side green with algae,
south side red as the center of Australia
& the only rust holes on top
where the rain has sought admittance:
I have been of little use
these past few decades
but I’m as full of holes as a flute
only the rarest wind can play
& in the right light
can almost be said to glow.
I will surrender to dissolution
but not right away.
I will give myself over to the patient
The soup I had for lunch
continues to bubble.
Outside there’s fog & rain,
I’m sitting straight in my chair
reading from a screen
& when I hear a gurgle
I look out at the drainpipe,
unsure for a moment
whether the soup is in me
or I am in the soup.
I would like a recipe
for disorientation,
a map for getting lost.
It might say, Dissolve
each point of reference.
Bring to a boil.
Today I spoke to the "Quiet Kid."
Found out he doesn't like his voice.
Said he should talk more cause I did.
To be honest, it sounds like an angel.
Not that I'd ever tell him.
I wonder tons about him,
Like if he likes the rain.
Maybe soon I'll ask him,
Unless he tells me to go away.
Quiet boy has fluffy hair,
So I'd really love to see
If I can get him to let me touch it,
Or if he'll get sick of me.
See, I'm the "Wild Kid"
Who all the students know,
But that's not really true, cause if they did
‘Come’, said the black (why black?) flag,
Hanging limp from the pole, head bow’d,
‘Yes, this is the house of the departed’.
‘Behind me, lies my master inside the house’.
‘I’, thought the black flag,
‘The herald, the proclaimer,
The silent trumpeter of death,
Turning eyes opaque in sorrow’.
On either side of the pathway
Chairs, red, lined up
Waiting politely for the old,
Awaiting their turn.
‘Why couldn’t I been red? My master
Now swathed in red silk, the flowers
In bright red and yellow,
While I, in sombre black’.
Far away, beyond the green paddy fields
Beyond the thatched huts and palm tops
A hazy gray blending into darker black
Touching the shimmering white clouds
Mountains stand like sentinels.
It has been raining here; the leaves
Underfoot bear my weight in silence.
I pause – leeches, wriggling, reach out
And clamber up my legs; a flutter in the woods –
A bird? A boar? A deer? Who is it that I disturbed?
In the deep forests, everything is dark and moist.
Steam unfurls in the scattering sunlight.
Silently, I watch – across the ridge, a rock shifts –
In awe, with love, oh with so much love, a tusker in sight.
Above my head, Minivets, Scarlet, like flashes of fire.
We were hidden in small umbrella
The rain was touching ous
The wind was pulling our
Umbrella
We hold the umbrella
Bought it near ous
We both got near each other
We looked at our face
And the rain stopped
The red orange sky
When the sun set had a while
We just found
Eachother in an
Dark red umbrella
Not too far,
Stay close.
Stay still,
Arms loose.
Resting heads,
On shoulders.
No other humans,
Just us.
Stars dancing,
Between.
Heaven throwing,
Down rain.
Water making,
Us shiver.
For warmth,
Draw closer.