If I could find her tonight,
I would keep death far away.
For Anita Bartlett,
Too Late
Why cannot blue be enough?
Light in the sky, dark in the sea,
the shades between.
The green of fields,
red clover, buttercups.
Bridal white of apple blossoms,
burial earth, hawk's feather, snakeskin.
Monarchs, Anita,
feeding on purple aster,
fluttering up,
sun glowing orange, brown, bronze
through black edged wings, twenty
joining twenty joining a hundred,
down, up, over, from
color to color
to Mexico.
Clouds booming over
the washed woods,
blue sun, Finn eats
chop suey from a pot
while I shave.
Six months to dismantle
the dead rooms of a marriage,
down to a borrowed tent,
patches of snow, and invisibly,
all around us, sap rising
in its own sweet time.
April, Maine
Alexis
Icons, coal mines, Ten Mile Creek,
the Monongahela,
a long way to this house
by the Kennebec,
sitting erect,
brushing your hair,
fire and peace in your cheeks,
preparing for the further
steppes of feeling.
Back In Town
Billy Frailly's got a new shirt,
shaved and walking down the road
ready for anything.
When I was in fifth grade
Billy powered his bike up Church Hill
(black Stetson, yellow kerchief).
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25