Sunday, November 10, 2013

A Spinning Gift for the Turning Moment (from the journal)

Catbird on the hammock.
It’s me that’s caught
her eye.  8-1-13

A gentle pendulum,
hummingbird’s tail
moves across the rosy sharons
as green as the leaves.  8-1-13

No sun to open the sharons,
hummingbird sits on yesterday’s closed flowers
and pokes with her beak.  8-1-13

Irritated wren
moves across the woods
faster than my eye.  8-1-13

Feathered yellow light
holds up two yellow swallowtails
nettled in a swirl.  8-4-13

That red-breasted bird lowers her breast
into last year’s red leaves in the one spot of sun
this cool morning.  Rufous-sided towhee.  8-5-13

That squirrel made the forest move.
Bee makes the sharon move.
The gray air makes nothing move.  8-6-13

Sky clouds moving east.
Earth clouds moving west.
Counterpoint before the rain.  8-20-13

Pye weed’s full pink heads.
Will they wait until I
get back?  8-20-13

I don’t know this bird.
Sounds a little like a rufous-sided towhee.
Let’s call him Morning Bird Who Sings in the Sea Air.  8-22-13

Between me and the pond
down there in the dense thicket,
there’s a cottontail and his kin.  8-23-13

When I go away from this balmy shore,
the sea oats will stay and hold my place.  8-23-13

This day belongs to mourning dove.
Repeating, he says so again.  8-25-13

More cicadas than
myrtle blossoms now.
One vibrates in the ear,
the other in the eye.  8-26-13

Nodding into the ground,
puccoon’s last yellow leaves
lean like sleepy pinwheels.  8-26-13

Above the white pines circling—vulture.
He sees me better than I see him and
he wonders about my pen.  9-3-13

The fading rosy lavendar that thinned out green.
That angle of yellow light.
They are all the end of something
the cool air carries away.  9-4-13

Look, there’s a catbird in the holly,
in a circle of sun.  He speaks softly.
I hear him.  9-4-13

So many days, books and libraries
soak up the hours. What choice?  
No choice.  9-11-13

Four geese overhead make an arm of a V.
They talk about it.  9-11-13

I’m feeling a little like columbine today,
yellowed and browned by the difficult summer.
Still upright on its stems, it is, though.  9-12-13

A round robin
of three families of noisy crows—
a circlet of crows?  9-14-13

Sieboldii’s one pink flower has a friend. 
And it has a mouth.
Well, a flower mouth.  10-31-13

Yellow sassafras and
cinnamon myrtle dance—
dark light, dark light, dark light.  10-31-13

I wrote it.  I sent it.  No surprise.
Let it be real in spite of everything.  11-10-13

Whose oak leaf fell in my hair?
A gift, a spinning gift
for the turning moment.  11-10-13

1 comment:

  1. Kathy-Not knowing the best place to post my comment, I want to tell you here that I enjoyed The Road Home is Always a River. I have read Shantyboat several times, and since you researched some of Anna's letters, the book filled in some blanks and put Anna more in the picture. Thank you for writing this book.