Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Canvas 406



Canvas 406

July 29, 2014




Every now and when


Is it true, then, that light through your fingertips
shows where sight ends, and vision begins?

I like to think so — and that your flight depends
on the love you give, every now and when.



Monday, July 28, 2014

Canvas 405



Canvas 405

July 28, 2014




Confessed as mist


The naked form,
and only as many words
as your eyes have need to feed upon,
confessed as mist, as only less
is more agreed
upon.



Sunday, July 27, 2014

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Those bright flowers


Those bright flowers in your hair,
you wear as stars, and a galaxy blows
from here to there, as a child
sows an end to war.



Friday, July 25, 2014

I was about to tell you


I was about to tell you,
when I thought it better to listen to the birds
a while longer, in the hope that my song
might sound a little more
like theirs.

I cry love from the nest;
fall through the words;

they sing the rest.



Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Of all the blues


Of all the blues that grace this world,
I love gray the best — dream-blue, rain-blue,
a lake blue by gray-night coming to dawn,
eye-blue, flight-blue, name-blue graying gray
alone — gray by love gently, gently gone,
wise-blue, saint-blue, fool-blue,
joy-blue — the gray-blue
in the sly-wink
of stone.



Monday, July 21, 2014

Pause


On a cool day in summer,
from a sail full of wind-blue stars,
comes soft light to the fields,
to the ground, of a face,
that is yours.



Sunday, July 20, 2014

Canvas 401



Canvas 401

July 20, 2014




How empty space is not empty


How empty space is not empty
until you turn away; how you turn away
from a place that was never there;
how, ever so gently, the face
that you face comes
clear.



Saturday, July 19, 2014

As a line in a poem


As a line in a poem on a page
in a book in a hand to an eye is the light
of a star, the mind flows as the sight
grows, and the poet shows
where they are.



Friday, July 18, 2014

Sweet, solemn robin


Sweet, solemn robin, blessed by sprinkler rain;
we can, yes, we will, do this again;
for the love of all;
and for our
kind.



Thursday, July 17, 2014

Canvas 400



My response to war? To love you, of course.



Canvas 400

July 17, 2014




Wish


I have not been this old
since the first time I was borne;

by the breath you call the wind,
I am gone, then here,

again.