LIFTED TO THE WIND Poems 1974 – 2015

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A book of new and selected poetry to be published in spring 2016.

A book of new and selected poetry to be published in spring 2016.

TO INHABIT THE FELT WORLD Nominated for da Vinci Eye Prize

The photograph is from the WaterLight series.

The photograph is from
the WaterLight series.

 

 

I’m honored that my new book TO INHABIT THE FELT WORLD has been nominated as a finalist for the da Vinci Eye prize for cover art. The cover image is from my WaterLight series.

Waiting: Fall

Waiting: Fall

 

For Love of Red

 

Red silk wet on pine needles.

Maple and sumac glimmer red against the road

neither red as the red wool blanket

in my blue room.

 

Evensong

Coyote families sing to each other in the dusk

sun flares redden mountains

sky blue as lapis lazuli

until moonless black night uncovers stars.

 

 

 

 

Cold Blue

 

 

blue scraps of sky

crack out clouds

 

dull winter ground

rigid brown

 

soon

snow we’ve longed for

 

 

Storm

clouds bank black against less black mountains

flying snow crosses dusky sun

fractured into winter rainbow

 

Red Twig

 

Morning fog lifts its wet weight

red twig shines

in remembrance.

 

Clouds in a prism of urgency

rush to the sea

 

An insect passes

lost in last summer’s litter.

Sidereal

night draws each body

over moonless horizon

 

Jupiter rises

stars overwhelmed

orbit toward dawn

 

 

 

 

 

Fog

 

shapeless quiet slides over the roof

colors hide

in deepening dusk

rain channels bark

 

fog drips on a forest mouse

somewhere near      a song

Atlantic Flight

Atlantic Flight

 

 

 

sky snow

 

scumbled over the landscape

undulates under blue clouds

 

late sun

rose-red,

lavender-lake

 

half the spectrum broken

over the roiled  surface

 

defined by ivory-black ribbons

of frozen rivers

 

no bird dares the winter sky

 

this titanium cylinder

radiant in the stratosphere

 

flies high in the face of sense.

 

 

Garden Bench

Tepoztlan-river-webcopy

Garden Bench

 

Narrowing path

 

overrun with elephant ears, birds-of-paradise,

pampas grass, plumed with decay.

 

Tentacles avid, relentlessly accelerate.

Sumptuous excess silences slow wind.

 

In canopy leaves reach for sky.

 

Alone here, unlonely,

immolant joy.

 

Between seasons, angled apart, the stone rests on gray schist legs.

 

Each dry winter, cemented

in their shrunken rigid waterless bed

desiccated stems flake to dust

Leaves of streamside trees

wait for July rain to decompose.

 

Each rainy summer night it sinks another iota toward its ancestral home

amidst the bedrock

of the river’s underground channel

tipping  imperceptibly

aslant in the slippery loam

 

The path a dirt track, no longer wide enough for two people to pass,

once planted, now wild

 

below steep rock steps a derelict fountain,

verdigris-bronze head on the wall

calcified mouth unable to spout the rainy runoff.

 

There the bench waited for decades.

 

Broken sun glints through heavy foliage.

Awake

I dream the afternoon.

 

Words fall through cascade of air.

 

Lines found in any order,

reordered,

folded away,

 

found again,

foundered in the torrent

found sheltered

this reader of stone in the rain.

 

 

a                  a                a

 

Along a wide path,

white with florescent light,

white with cold empty shining air

immaculate, pristine, precise,

five people, a crowd covered in blue,

walk steady and resolute .

 

Awake

on the rolling platform

I dream back this sheltered garden.

 

The tiny black mystery, size of a fingernail, sends its life out

in threads, ready to take mine in suicidal excess.

They, steadfast under blue lights, mean to murder

this malignant monster.

 

Silence and noise, garden leaves,

insects and wind, muffled footsteps

 

 

A stone in the river ,washed smooth

by twenty years absence,

lies wet in the sunshine.

 

Gentle in its muddy bed,

heavy in my hand now, its body

contains the igneous history of the world.

 

A wader in this stream,

I step in the icy flow and fall

against its solid actuality.

 

 

2012

Montserrat Revisited

Montserrat

Montserrat

Montserrat Revisited

 

November drizzle dismisses easy days

sky fog belts rocky towers

last tenacious yellow cleaves to sycamore

 

Wet cobbles cross the village

past sienna-plastered walls

to the arched churchly porch

 

High-window light falls on young faces

wide eyes, open mouths release ordinary voices

celestial in the stone space

 

Long aisles interrupted with chapels

virgin heroines long departed

kings, conquerors, redeemers

 

One new brilliant glass-doored space, punctuated with

crossed hands, crossed feet,

thorned corona

to enter, hands push against the wooden bar

caress the carved history of Catalunya

 

Gentle-voiced crowd edges around the perimeter

up sloped steps scooped out by each pilgrim’s foot

the black Madonna, centuries of candled

smoke and love shine on her face

 

Long promenade, black iron choirs

of fat, thin, tall, short,

red, green, white pillars

flame with hope

 

outside people are passing by

one more door

 

Red walls, shining wood floor, bright lights,

a room full of things

 

Two long white glowing wedding dresses

sequins, embroidery, gathered stitching

cover silk petticoats and sheer linings

 

black sleeves touch white silk

a very short suit of black wool

young brother to accompany the bride?

stranger?

 

brass hooks hold

small shoes

plastic flowers

infant’s yellow bib

summery straw hat

with silk flowers around the crown

 

 

tiny girl’s starched pink dress

white rickrack pristine

no dribbles from a meal of applesauce.

 

past the corner more hooks

a shelf with

baskets

music box

chest with dark red velvet lining

Round another corner

more flowers

toys, photographs

crutches

 

sorrows

gratitude

 

 

A sign says

everything

all the objects

are left behind

 

and may yet be reclaimed