Down by the Pond
When I was 10,
I had a gift. I knew
what silence
meant to frogs.
Poetry: Finally
Finally
After roasting chicken
and asparagus on the stones,
they used to hold each other,
the same way the turquoise Moon
holds the storm, gently over
a lean-to on the Cedar River Flow.
Poetry: Encounter on the Moose River
Encounter on the Moose River
Startled by steps-
that New Balance
bounce- like Boeing
jets gliding through
the metallic twilight
of a perfect aloneness,
a blue heron hides be
tween two teal wings,
folding and glittering,
holding eyelids near the
fleeting shadows of a
river’s moving stillness.
Poetry: Adirondack Sunset
Adirondack Sunset
on a pillow
of basalm perfume,
she went to sleep. It
was preposterously
elegant and I was drunk.
Poetry: A Definition of Time
A Definition of Time
On a dead-end block in
a Raquette Lake cabin,
she lays down to drink
alone, not giving a damn
about being married
in the finest old oak casks
or being distinctive with
a hint of perfect smoke
and peat. She just lays there.
While outside her bedroom
window, a slow-rolling plastic
scrapes loose the hard gravel.
Poetry: My Turn
My Turn
When it was my turn
to go in
I sat cross-legged
by the ventilator
and told my buddy
goodbye.
I could have cried
but he deserved more
than that. He deserved
what carries no weight.
Time.
Before the lungs fill
with river water,
and the dream oozes
away from fingers like
the slime of drowning
lotus petals
caught between the rocks.
Poetry: Radiation from the Big Bang
Radiation from the Big Bang
Dear Gramps,
we never knew who
pulled the trigger. [Read more…] about Poetry: Radiation from the Big Bang
Poetry: The Promise of the Earth
The Promise of the Earth
my brain is ready for the spring
medicine of the Adirondacks-that
fragrance of grace in her naked fingers,
holding a quiet sun, with a hush. My
heart is ready. My legs and tendons
are ready. On the snow dirtied with mud
like the tips of mink fur, my feet are
ready. The wisdom of these ancestral
trails call me to be alone in a temple of
deep space, and my soul is ready. Where
there is no religion but God and water and
land and shadows and the scent of charred
balsam and arrowroot. A warm breath on
my neck, and the entire history of the earth
promised in a poem, I am ready. I am ready.
Poetry: I Believe In
I Believe In
The bending of starlight
and my next breath, given
unto me as the heart is given
unto the chest. Or the summer
moon is given unto the Mohawk
warrior. And I have faith in you,
kissing me, under Creeping Snowberry,
in the wild gardens of Keene Valley,
where dancing dragonflies dare to land.
Poetry: After Meditating On My Front Porch
After Meditating On My Front Porch
I again realize that mindfulness is noticing
stillness, how the ink [Read more…] about Poetry: After Meditating On My Front Porch