Yellow Rose Rising (from the journal)

Tufted titmouse on the screen
looking for bugs.
Such big feet. 11-1-11


A beautiful journey
to the tall city,
a long river
to go by. 11-3-11


A golden afternoon
at the village blacksmith’s—
the black lizard whistle. 11-7-11


This maple is bare,
the earnestness of all the years
there to see. 11-9-11


The brown leaves
fall through my eyes
leaving their breath
on my breath. 11-9-11


Summer’s dry weight
moves in the blue sky,
dark golden leaves
not ready to let go. 11-12-11


It will be here when all
the other things are gone—
orange stars over hibiscus’ yellow leaves
hanging down,
one moment, in color,
breathed. 11-13-11


The blue wind sets
the orange stars twisting.
Some will spin free
before they are red. 11-13-11


Crab apple’s buds are set against
a warm gray sky. Wren, too,
her single voice. 11-14-11


Sieboldii’s green is gone.
Rose, dark rose, yellow rose rising. 11-15-11


A gray day
warmed by maple’s last yellow leaves.
The slow scrape of the old plastic rake. 11-20-11


Crab apple buds are set.
Carolina Wren announces winter’s silhouette. 11-21-11


Blue jay climbs crab apple branch
calling out the news—
the sun, the sun, the sun
is on his feet. 11-21-11


By my face, outside my window,
yellow honeysuckle
as yellow as any sun. 11-23-11


‘Tis the season
of leaf blowers,
of leaf mold,
of everything down,
but the blue sky
holding up. 11-21-11


Falling through the empty tees,
gray rain,
the sound. 11-29-11


A cat threads her way
around my teacup,
stream rising in the jade. 11-30-11


The light on my eyes
is as before—
all the years,
the spoken story,
the scintillating reflections remembered
as now, the sweet warmth,
sweet. 11-30-11


How everything is—
the empty baskets,
the old toys,
space,
and the memories of space
folding around us. 12-1-11