The bitter taste of coffee, rising -
The face of a full moon, resting -
The bed of a truck, sitting down.
Watching the ashen plumes of goldenrod,
the trace of maple canopies,
the broken plane of a beaver pond
recede down a winding road -
See no deer, hear no owl.
The wind passes over my ears.
Posted 18-Oct-2024
I have seen that mystery there, reclining,
ball in one hand, long dart in the other,
and heavy measure on the table.
She sits on dun wicker, by a long pane
of reradiated Autumn heat. She smiles
and tells the story of Grandfather,
his time in the underworld
and the noise there ------ A
dream of circumpolar sea
when it is warm,
when birds land,
and a chest is full of linen.
I have seen that mystery there, reclining,
when an old man wakes and says:
"What a cool and lovely Autumn."
Posted 13-May-2024