Woman of the day
93 on the news
Strong eyes
Awake Present
Smiling from hospital
Bed when asked if
She could
Forgive the
Two men who broke in
Hit her
Robbed her
Left her in her own old blood

Yes Yes I do I think about
Them

Riverside camp
Site plans.

Stones smooth from
Currents of centuries

Surrounding ditch
Dug for bonfire.

Driftwood shelter
Tied with fresh willow twigs,

Tiled with leaves and ferns.
Location for personal business

Decided upon and upheld.
The choice is mine whether to

Watch the weather, the fire,
The sunset and its mirrored twin

Where dinner skips for its own,
Or the spaces between it all.  

I have shovel, axe and a knife
As sharp as a scorned woman's

Tongue. Sleeping bag, and salt.
If the fish doesn't bite

I'll sleep hungry. No worry.
My surroundings always

Provide. They tolerate me;
I address them as I would

Any mother.

This familiar road. Same bus
Every morning for
Seven years,
Yet never
Noticed

The oak tree
On that field
Until
Now.

A majestic crown of
Darkest green upon
Wood as solid as
Boats and homes.

Growing as slowly
As it wants.

It can.

A Robin laid an egg in our backyard.
We can hatch it; we just have to keep it warm.
Your hair dangles on your shoulders when you run
so you should cut it, or stop running,
or stop running from the storm.
In the Bible, there’s a story about some people
who never knew they weren't living right.
Let’s break the chains we made together,
run into the weather; let the lightning
be our lava lamp tonight.

here I am
             in the ground
                            my mouth
                            open
                       and
            I can't even say
                       mama,
                          and
the dogs run by and stop and ****
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
                                   bad
and yesterday
                        the last of my left
                                              arm           gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.

at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
                             engines and
                             33 men.

I can't
           do
                any
                       thing.

but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
           he is
                 very bad
                            company.

She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

Power line cutting a thick
Scar across the
Hillside of
Trees.
Signatures of Civilisation; straight
Lines and angles,
Perfect circles. All within
What has none.
Needs none.
Wants none.

Maimed and modified
By the cynical scalpel
Of laziness named Progress,
By incompetent
Surgeons.

Waterfalls tamed and forced
Through turbines.
This naked mountaintop
Was a mile stone
For pedestrian generations.
Now it holds that giant antenna
Like a spiteful eyesore
To those who love
The land.

Power and signals, to sit
In air conditioned comfort
And watch
Nature shows on TV.