Whiteface Mountain
In your weary legs,
belong to her summit
without rejoicing, yet full.
Scurry about like a chipmunk
drunk on the oxygen of being.
Poetry: Spreading Ashes in the Ausable
Spreading Ashes in the Ausable
more coveted than wine
from milk, the master
alchemists of China could
do no better than these clouds
churning into rivers,
the way cottongrass renews itself
or how a son returns in time to let go.
Poetry: Humpbacks of the Hudson
Humpbacks of the Hudson
Before the finned
dinosaurs of the icy
depths were
disappointed by
the steamships
of men, they cast
their ballads into
the velvet abyss,
waiting as mothers
do with untamed hearts,
big as school buses.
Poetry: Photography
Photography
is the waterfall
carved by the
elements, a river
bed ticking away,
layer by layer, the
salty, smoked scent
of sycamore mist.
Poetry: Down by the Pond
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.