I was picking blueberries
With aunt Pat and Carolyn
We had just come upon the best
Patch of the day
When we heard thunder
And it started to rain
Aunt Pat said we had to go
She hurried us back across the field
And into the house

I've never been back there,
Until today

I like your edge
You lay it out
You say it straight
And you don't hedge

And I like to watch
Your expressions change
From sweet to sour
From sour to sweet
From sunny to dark
Then back again,
Like cloud shadows moving
On distant mountains...
Sun then shadow
Then sun again...
Oh, how I love your
Changing expressions!

But even more I like your edge
You say it straight
You lay it out
Without a doubt
And you don't hedge

The grass is tall
The grass is small
Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth I go

Mow, mow, mow
Mow, mow, mow

I hear the mower's motor
It cuts grass with its rotor

Mow, mow, mow
Mow, mow, mow

I'm trying to thin up a poem
As I'm walking along

I love the smell of fresh cut grass
As I'm mowing the lawn

"There's always next year"
Doesn't mean what it used to
Now that I am old

Is that a dead fly?
No, that isn't what it is--
It's a bit of lint

Summer's getting gone
Like my other summers, gone
Gone where summers go

Steep rusty roofs
On faded red barns
Dry stubble fields
Tall silos forlorn
Abandoned homesteads
Stretch cold empty arms
Silent remains of
What used to be
Farms

Gone from the fields
The crops and their yields
Gone from the homesteads
Families and kin
Old barns stand empty
It seems like a sin
And land that was dust
Is now dust again

I have to stand somewhere
Until I find
A good place I can stand.
I really don't like shifting sand
Or muck that you sink into.
Isn't it much the same for you,
Looking for firm ground
As you're on the move?

And I have to hang onto something
Until something comes along
That I can really hang onto.
Isn't it similar for you,
Clinging to one thing
(The very best yet)
Until something else comes through?  

And I must find someone I can trust
Until someone comes along
Who I can really trust.
Leaps of faith I've made a few,
Landed hard and changed my view.
Isn't it sort of lie that for you?
Looking for the truth
As you're passing through?

She studies her oatmeal with brown eyes
Pokes at it with her spoon
Makes valleys and ridges
Then smooths them
Thinks it must last her 'til noon.
She lifts a small, rounded bite to her lips
That disappears into her mouth
Like a tourist boarding an airplane
Headed for someplace down south.
She moves her jaw slowly,
Stares into space
Finally, she swallows it down.
Then back to her bowl
The spoon returns
And back to her face, a frown.

A feathery snowflake
Falls in your hair
And quickly disappears

When I die
I'll sleep like a bear
For billions and billions of years

Maybe someday I'll be back this way
(Some say that someday I may)
But maybe that someday is eons away
I'm glad we're together
Today

One of those people
Who you think you'll see again
But you never do

Early Spring begins with the Vernal Equinox
and lasts until April 8th, the day I was born.
April 8th is the first day of Mid-Spring, which we love
until May 14th, when the leaves are almost full
on the trees.  May 14th is the first day of Late Spring,
which totally delights us until the final minute of
June 9th has passed.  Then comes June 10th and
Early Summer.  The water in the brooks gets lower
and warmer.  The sun reaches its highest point
in the sky.  Early Summer ends on the 4th of July;
then come the seemingly endless days of Mid-
Summer.  They hold memories of childhood and
a kind of timelessness.  Mid-Summer is over on
August 7, the day my friend had his annual birthday
party after Little League was over.  In Late Summer, the
Winter we couldn't imagine in July seems to be edging
nearer.  The first day of Early Fall is the day after
Labor Day.  We went back to school then, and the
leaves had already started to turn.  On the second
Monday of October, Mid-Fall begins.  The tamaracks
are yellow, the crickets are silent, things are very still,
everything seems to be waiting for the snow.  On the
day after Halloween, Late Fall Begins.  We hope our
fire-wood is dry enough; we get the snow removal
tools ready, and maybe even have to use them.  This
short season ends the Friday after Thanksgiving.  Then
we are into Early Winter.  The sun sets very early, we
can see our breath in the morning.  The dark time has
begun, but the days pass quickly, as the holidays brighten
our spirits.  Mid-Winter begins on December 26.  Now,
the darkness presses against our windows at dinner time.
Glasses of wine and candle light are the best defenses.  We
press on through January, talking about our garden and
keeping the house neat.  Then comes Valentine's Day, the
first day of Late Winter.  Each day is noticeably longer.
We start to wonder what Spring and Summer will be like.
On some days the snow melts, and we see little streams
running along the sidewalks.  The sun climbs higher in the
sky, and we REJOICE!

Music can't save me
Wine very low in my glass
Emptiness at last

Air filled with bird-songs
At dawn, this last day of June
T'will be winter soon

Gentle summer rains
Falling on ponds and puddles...
The circles they make...

Maybe it was big spiders
From underneath the eaves
Or maybe just a little bird
That came down from the trees
Or maybe some fat garter snake
That crept up from the lawn
In any case, the next morning
All those four were gone...

Poor monarch caterpillars
Plump as plump could be
Contented, moving slowly
On their sweet milkweed
All four gone for ever
We'll see them not again.
Pretty butterflies on air
Alas, they would have been...

I like spring snowflakes
At least a million times more
Than those in autumn

Don't overweight your inhibitions
Take advantage of
Favorable conditions

Make ice when it's cold
Sell ice when it's hot
That's the best advice I've got

All of my stories
Romances of drifting clouds
My reality

From a distant garden
I hear her murmuring
Like a clear spring
Flowing over smooth pebbles,
Through sun and shadows,
Under leaves and needles.
I hear her voice, not what she says,
Her sound, but not her words:
I hear what's left of her words and what came before--
Semi words, undefined, like ***** of cotton
Shaped like drifting clouds
Like the sound the curtains make
When the wind blows in,
Or the sound a fly makes
Buzzing on a screen.
Woolly, fuzzy, smoky half-words
Rub my ears like kitten's fur and move on
Like tiny tumbleweeds with no special destination.
Comforting not to be alone:
In the silence that defines everything
So good not to be alone.

Some of the leaves have turned
To a perfect, Popsicle orange
While some are drenched in purple
Like a sad cleric that mourns
The hills are dressed in brightest yellow
Like flashbulbs going off
And varied reddish lipstick shades
Some fiery, and some soft
Coppers I see, like an old tea kettle
Or suntans on the beach
And mauve, ah sensuous mauve,
Like the skin of a ripened peach

I'm standing where I admired the leaves
As a child way back when
The colors, I think, must still be the same,
But they look different now than they did then

In February,
Late day light clings to the snow
Reluctant to go

Winter's a time for philosophy,
When deep snow covers what we love
We make up stories to convince ourselves
That nothing we care about matters that much.
Or we feed our hopes with memories,
Warming ourselves around that woodstove,
As if keeping those fires alive
Keeps the things we love closer
Even as they become more distant,
Or keeps us ready for their return,
Though they are never coming back.
We dance, waving our arms frantically
In the smoke, playing games in the snow,
Keeping things alive in our minds
As if memory brought them nearer.
Pictures on shelves
(Showing how it was for us)
Sit and gather dust.
We bathe in happy memories
And try to look ahead,
Hoping for summer again.

Watching trees  dancing
Wrapped in the arms of the wind...
What are they thinking?

March at last is here
Sun gets higher, winter ebbs
Streams from melting snow

Watch the leaves flicker
See the story of your life
The past and future

The trains run all night
Every night, every season
Hauling their freight
Through the city
Sometimes they wake me
I lie there and listen
Not even feeling sleepy

On and on those horses roll
Incessantly on their tracks
Rolling and rolling
And rolling and rolling
They carry my thoughts
On their backs...

All of these trees used to be people,
With people thoughts and
People feelings.  
As I see them today,
They have tree thoughts and
Tree feelings.

At some different time and
In some different place,
They will all be people again,
With people thoughts and
People feelings


'

I ground her words
Into tiny flakes
And smoked them
All afternoon
After that, I fell asleep
And woke up on the moon

Time travel exists
Only where time can exist
That is in your mind

A river of blue
Flows through a valley of clouds
In the springtime sky

It tears me apart
To see summer's leaves fading
Nature on its knees

In the shade where it's cool
A little stream ran
Making its way
Over pebbles and sand.
Forget-me-nots blue
Were growing nearby
Scattered like stars
On a grassy, green sky.

One evening in August
We stood there in silence,
Lost in our thoughts
As the water rushed on.
In time, we discussed
The forget-me-nots
And how they had lasted
All summer long.

I hear the wind rumbling,
Rumbling away
Towards where its going
From where it came
Drives its shoulders
Up under the eaves
Tries to get in
Then eventually leaves
Pounds with its fists
On the roof and siding
But they keep it out
From where I'm abiding
Hums like a bee swarm
Courting the queen
Then changes its tune
In the window screen
A lull, then its back
Renewing its force
Its voices a screeching,
Howling chorus

Clouds drifting along
Like they do while I'm living
And will when I'm gone

I flew through an open window
Into the open air
Lit in a friendly tree
And sang my song from there

Then I flew to a telephone wire
And sat out in the sun
Some birds of a feather joined me
And we flew off as one

We went to a park where kind souls
Scattered corn and crumbs on the lawn
We landed and ate what we wanted
Then took to the sky and were gone

We met up with a warm south wind
That buoyed us in our flight
And held us in its gentle arms
All day, into the night

Spring settled on us
Like a gentle mother hen
On her nest of eggs

Is the song I hear
From leaves I watch flickering
Or from your guitar?

Use your spoon,
Dig a pond in the middle,
Fill it with milk, then
Little by little,
Eat from the center
Out toward the bowl's rim,
As the milk goes down
Pour a little more in...

When you get to the border
Your oatmeal is gone
Your hunger is history
And so is the pond

The winter sand that still remains
Along the walks and street
Makes a sweet, seductive sound
Underneath my feet
Like a lover clears her throat,
When about to speak

Snow, snow and more snow
Keeps on snowing and blowing
The wind is so cold...

So many people
That I'll never see again
Enemies and friends

I flew out an open window
And into the open air
Lit in a friendly tree
And sang my song from there

Then I flew to a telephone wire
And sat out in the sun
Some birds of a feather joined me
And we flew off as one

We went to a park where kind souls
Left corn and crumbs on the lawn
We came down and ate what we wanted
Then took to the sky and were gone

We met with a warm south wind
That buoyed us in our flight
And held us in its gentle arms
All day, into the night

Some people think
The human race
And this world
End at the very same time

But for billions of years
This world spun without us
And without us again
It might do just fine

Early autumn leaves
They remind me of myself
Oh, those changing leaves!