Wednesday, January 11, 2012



Ducks ripple the pond
this wet April morning
the blue heron
rises from the mist
a lone turkey
struts the field
and the grass
green as Ireland

Alone I reap the years
when I squandered
my bankroll of compassion
guarded my solitude with fangs

No one to fling his arm
round my neck
draw me close
No one to share words
in coffee steam
no your shirt is misbuttoned
comb your hair
where are the keys

Turn it all around
begin again

Wrens fly from nest to worm
squirrels chitter and chase
I press seeds into soil