The Star Rover

That someday we will want to know

Behind the word ardors.

Projections seriously arrived at.

A flourish of flowers against imagination’s 

Pavement. The snow fell in buckets which

Made light.  It seemed strange we were

Always in awe.  

What may ruffle the tags 

Gleam across the mountain.

The river flows back.

The cat changes its position.

Who we are is closer now. 

And lacks blame.

And happens to be right.

Especially in the record of the evening.

Surely we will have to arrange the table 

And ask for music to follow. 

And then loosen our ties a little,

The kayak collection is open for research.

A large in parentheses often colored wing

Whispers against the window.

Only a bowl of oatmeal lies 

Between ourselves and the purple mist 

Seeing it again, it is darker.

It is coming out against the stars.

True North

 And to think there must be a source

 left strangely unaware and responsible

 besides, who, with the string of clouds

 moves towards intermission 

it is time for us to be together

 to go to the screen to mind

 to get caught up in the fullness of music

 no more to reckon in the empty house of Romantics

 The ironic rain barrel, cuddle fish, 

one surveys the land and finds that the grass

 is much taller over there

 that this very afternoon is hot enough

 to muffle the exchanges between the wildflowers.,

 No one stands for something

 they wait for the light to pass on into berries

 or fizzle with questions, 

someday you will want to know more

 But no matter how hard you aim

 the book opens to the same page

and gives the same message.

And that may be the only strange

encouragement that you need.

New Poem

The seasons

beautiful involved, 

lovely like invisible elevators, 

who thought to get off 

at the next stop 

who thought the party 

was always there.

The lamps were on 

the glasses arrange themselves 

in the green light. 

There was a familiar spirit 

that changed into a hush 

on the hills in the evening 

when the room darkens,

 and one can see no farther 

than the face in the window 

it is as if a century has passed 

and people in the theater 

waltz out from their seats 

as the lights turn on 

and new ones waltz in.

First Fiction in Film

 I remember you were wearing purple

as the tangerine sun lit room

Accented the crochet .  I was six.

The day continued.

 I stopped looking.

The orange cat was always around.

I ran around the table

The pictures capture that.

Also, you waving into the camera.

And teaching others to say hello.

To pose. To walk slowly.

To pretend to walk before

Stepping on to your plane

And flying home.

Organizing Flowers into a Bouquet

Under Wednesday's umbrella

we shape our eternal dress

I tried to avoid saying that.
Glowing in jars of youth.
Breathing out layer-cakes.
We've grown silent

in these last careful months.

The marshland of notebooks

many remaining instruments
and the hint of citrus twist 

words into a particular curved roof.

This one here and that one there.

Is much of what it all comes down to

until we step away and see

How the wording created

A thought no one not even you

Knew you could think. 

 

All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon

on your young sandy face

the weight of the stars

the body tasting like snow

a slipcover of communication

fleeting through the blue geography

Twilight paintings

firecracker mysteries

calm whole hurricanes

sandwiched within 

the intricacies of the day

before you knew it

even existed.

As Long as Russell Edson Lives

I am fine
but the moment
he is dead
I become
too hard to
figure out
my growing

room
labors like
tiny inventions
glancing
at each other

locked in the deciding

who came first

who came last

and who came at all.