Hidden at
the rest stop
gingko’s
leaves appear on the ground
yellow in
the cold yellow sun. 11-20-13
Soft from
the frost,
bleached by
the night air,
gingko’s
little wrinkled persimmons,
soft between
my fingers. 11-20-13
The sun.
It didn’t
forget me all these months—
maple’s
shadows on my face, my hands, my eyes.
11-20-13
Lemon
with the last bit of color,
honeysuckles
under the blue sky.
All the red
berries. 11-23-13
Flowing
down from the sun,
the cloud
river with wisps
teased up
by the moving light. 11-23-13
When I
was gone
hickory lost
all her golden leaves.
Greenbrier
holds on to one,
her own,
round as the sun. 11-23-13
Watery
sun
over the
gray wood.
It’s
enough for all. 11-25-13
One more
leaf
floating down
on light.
I
memorize how it’s done. 11-25-13
Is life
enough?
In the
sun it is. 11-25-13
Sitting
here in love,
in sun,
your breath
filling me
with warmth. 11-25-13
In winter
warm oak leaf light,
honeysuckles
leaves ret,
curl by
curl. 11-26-13
Waiting
like hickory
in the rain
arms outstretched,
waiting for
breath. 11-26-13
I opened
the window
and the
light poured in—
thin,
dry, sticking to everything. 11-27-13
Hey sky,
call me harder.
It’s dark
in this room.
I can’t
smell your heart.
There’s a
cloud in the way. 12-3-13
It’s me,
front and center.
Sun’s
pupil waiting for moments,
illuminated
moments. 12-4-13
A Sun Poem
Moving
across seas of thought,
the holy
one, one. 12-4-13
Breath,
mind,
sunlight on
my eyelashes.
Mind
breathing light,
the other
breath. 12-4-13
The light
of first snow changes everything—
everywhere
lightfall,
everywhere
the quiet sound of light falling.
12-8-13
You
walked backwards to meet me,
changed hands,
stole my pen,
littered my
heart with your laughter,
the sea
blue eyes that listened.
And then
I took it back,
my pen,
to write the letters,
all the
letters from my hand to yours,
one heart
between. 12-8-13
The
tinkling ice one day.
The quiet
snow the next.
Beauty
filling up the spaces between my thoughts
as vertical
as the unmoving trees. 12-10-13
The only
warm light this cold morning
is the
yellow light passing through
honeysuckle’s
last leaves. 12-11-13
Here,
under the
black stripe of sky.
Above,
the bright stripe filled with sun.
Here,
below
dwelling in
love,
a place
of my choosing,
Here,
just here. 12-11-13
Will it
be repaired?
Will the
sun melt a new skin
on the
broken snowflakes?
Will the
sigh be heard?
Will the
blue sky reach the heart again? 12-12-13
At
Dawn (for George Garvin)
It came
again,
red and
its own reflection.
Burned away
thought
and left
the cold air on fire
and me breathing
the light. 12-13-13
Under the
blue spruce
in a dry spot,
snow falling,
two deer
resting on the needles,
chewing their
cud, ears forward. 12-14-13
The sun
is skipping light
across the
snow to my eyes this morning,
the concentric
ripples of touch felt
but not
seen on the crusty snow. 12-15-13
In the
bright sun, me on one side of the window,
warm,
yellow honeysuckle leaves on the other side,
all of us
in a light which is never irrelevant,
warm or
cold. 12-15-13
Remembering,
you caught
the door.
Our eyes
meet.
You haven’t
quite forgotten me yet. 12-15-13
The red
one in the holly calls,
“Do you
remember me? I miss your thoughts,
the sound
of your pen on paper,
your long
glances, your sighs. I miss you.
The light
is still here on my feathers, on my eyes.
Your light,
too. Come.” 12-16-13
Pushing
its way in,
the sun
has left no space for me to move.
I sit in
the swirl. 12-28-13
The
coldest morning of the year.
After the
coldest night of the year.
Quiet,
save for the furnace. 1-7-14
Between
the horizontal tree shadows,
The sun
finds me in warmth, your warmth. 1-8-14
The
arctic air withdrawn,
robin comes
in its wake,
holly berries
to be eaten. 1-9-14
Will you
come then?
Will you
sit by me?
Will you
let me walk into your sea blue eyes
on a warm
sunny day when I need to float free?
1-9-14
The dark
and the rain
cannot overcome
last summer’s glow
coming off
the bed of orange oak leaves
swelling with
memories and scent. 1-11-14
Bareness
waving up,
waving down.
The
light, the rain, the rising air,
rising. 1-11-14
January
fell slowly without words,
colorless
snowflakes through colorless light
moved only
by my breath
warm with
anticipation. 1-21-14
Hoping
for words.
They could come up like trees,
one cell
at a time under the weighted light,
with enough
breath. Mine, yours. 2-8-14
What
would there be then if not for peace—
hickory’s
graceful cascading curves,
the milk
gray sky that comes down to the eye,
love that
rises like bubbles after the sheeting rain,
the last
of last year’s leaves pointing down to
a future
not embraced,
just
yet. 2-9-14
