Thursday, July 31, 2014

Canvas 409

Canvas 409

July 31, 2014

Summer wish

Made in such a way,
that in the sound of the saying,
the lips in their moving,
meet in their going,
and never

A dry tang,
a sweet thing,
a kiss, ever showing,
the heart, on your sleeve.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Canvas 408

Canvas 408

July 30, 2014

Canvas 407

Canvas 407

July 30, 2014

The farmer in me

These hot summer afternoons,
I spend with shovel, shears, and hoe,
sweating the morning’s words away,
hands and arms darker by the day.

That’s the farmer in me;
and why what I sow,
I also mean
to say.

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

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


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

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

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Canvas 400

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

Canvas 400

July 17, 2014


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,


Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Brown study

Summer; the iris bed;
your hands and face and arms;

the old worn shovel shines
against the wall;

a polished mirror,
still warm, about to fall.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Monday, July 14, 2014

Sunday, July 13, 2014

And you

The softest, gentlest dawn,
of color here, then gone,
and you, a bristle in the brush.

Saturday, July 12, 2014


A whine in her voice; an old battered ball;
a world, with teeth marks, rolls down the hall.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Mine the river

Mine the river with your toes, the way a cottonwood does,
while the crows mine the air in your hair.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Thinking of you out there

Thinking of you out there, deep in the dry grass
and summer smoke, steady as a blind-cricket time-piece;
how want is a dry well, and truth the tale
of windmill blades.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

These old gods

These old gods
are like fence-posts
with the wire

they remain,
you move

a heart-drawn constellation.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

A blossoming sense

A blossoming sense
that the present is enough,

the down on a face,
a thistle-wish.

Monday, July 7, 2014


Surely you must know,
the hunger for attention grows
as it feeds upon the absence
of one’s own.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Of many petals down

Of many petals down,
this life is still profound
when the naked stem
is held.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Two fingers creased

Two fingers creased by a heavy book;
one still bears the writing callous formed
during grammar school days.

The pencils first were flat;
then, later, fat as the callous formed
by what the writer says.

One quiet hour is all it took,
so near his life in letters formed
before he went away.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Gray lace on a gray face

A dog on a walk, followed by an old woman’s body,
led by her voice — looking up — gray lace, on a gray face,
blue eye, in a blue sky — such is my place today,
and if they, or you, or I, knew how, or why,
to trace our pace, or try, this space,
as white, and wide, and true,
as any clue, would fly,
like me, and you.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

I will be wise

Yes, I will be wise when I finish this clover chain;
when my heart’s hands and my mind’s thumbs
bind my tree’s limbs to my joy’s roots,
my sun’s rain will be

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Between your ears

A world between your ears,
large enough to contain
a world that contains you.

A world among your fears,
small enough to remain
a world that explains you.