For Dana Mullan
We who live in this country
never become inured from grief.
Each time one falters it is the same:
the raw incomprehension
that this beloved could fade, or fail.
Category / Poetry
Beauty is a feeling
He fed me
the root of a licorice fern,
sheep sorrel, a soup
made from stinging nettles.
Filling Out the F.A.F.S.A.*(*Free Application for Federal Student Aid)
“If net worth is negative,
enter zero.”
My daughter peers over my shoulder,
knows the weight of what can’t
The Bumble Bee
Buzzing bumble bee,
warrior-bard seeks pollen gold
there on Meadow Sea.
Clever Sleep
Clever sleep, hiding under my pillow, under the bed
I turn and toss, plowing the sheets, turning over the turf
of the day while pocketing seeds that resemble slumber
like words and thoughts for a poem to sow through
Waiting for the Port Townsend Ferry
A couple of blown-out motorcycle guys:
Paunches leading,
Park their Harleys,
Slouch.
On Days When Rain Sews Earth to Sky
On days when rain
sews earth to sky
I stand at my window
and watch it fall sodden
leaden to the ground.
Big Talk
I stand in the evening wind
Just outside my barn,
On four boards facing west
By rose bushes piled high, almost in bloom,
Naked in the Moat
I can no longer
tread, tremor, tease
float
naked in this moat
Captured Prayer Flags
our prayer flags…
are trampled, torn
and wire wrapped
our cairns…
lean left and tumble