An empty tree is filled with stars
and we, tired of dreams
seek new forms
A constellation without name
is waiting to become
and light
flickers from a distant farm
There will be no coming back
to fill with objects
this longing for unknown things
Night
waits to become
all we impose upon her
SPRING
Primary motion
A Cooper’s hawk
sails its patterns
circles and dips
hovers and rolls
Wings
form the intent
the hunt of eyes
larger than a man’s
followed and fought
against cold silence
And how did you
come to be ordinary
though you can’t
convince yourself
This field of wild mustard
a sky set in rain
a place for dreaming / a place
to graze your mind
But the gun is lowered
the mind won’t graze
Why here
in a field of wild mustard
and how did you come to be ordinary
though you won’t
convince yourself
All night the rain
driving us through sleep
washes tracks from the road
washes snow from the fields
and somewhere
beyond the rain
the moon
hangs thoughtlessly ornamental
in the sky
SUMMER
Pine trees
and the grasses in a pine forest
like sand vaporized
pulse out a dry smell
as you climb higher
and breathe harder
I stopped to rest
on a fallen tree
I thought of you
gone
and almost suffocated
In the moonlight mountains
darker as they are closer
are lighter
farther away
Clearly / I need
more light
to see
Often these clouds are beautiful
but I
can see storms in them
and sometimes the
sky has
more blue than I can believe
After the rain
interrupting our afternoon
/ the woods
floats off a thin smell
like a new day
You know you must tell her
and you are resolved;
you have composed the sentences carefully
and you’ve practiced them
but she’ll not help you
will not let you know
she knows
The thing about mountains
that from so far away
you can see where you’re going
Closer
everything changes / you
can see
only where you’ve been
FALL
Afternoon
a slanted light
as on a warm October
all you are
pursuing
something vague of apples
ready growth and still
green bracken a jay
and the first blue haze
juicy with sleep
weight of leaves
a sadness something
long awaited
Fire must have
an edge to cling to
a place
to spread its forces
a spot
to work away from
The duck
wilted in the boat
blood in the bilge
neck strangely twisted
the eye a puncture in flowers
Burn it
burn it all and start again
with less collusion
Each leaf bends into itself
tumbles down and back / spinning
down and back on itself
married to its falling