Maybe you find your center
On a couch beside a divided highway,
Where asphalt ribbons melt together
In the beautiful mess of the day's last fire,
Where light falls on upholstery
In a manufactured Southwest pattern,
Best suited to drier air but somehow
At home on a Wisconsin shoulder,
Watching the world go by
In metallic paint and autoglass reflections,
Moving too fast to catch all the names
Of almost-forgotten rivers crossed:
Rib River,
Rat River,
Jump River,
And any number of State Name Rivers.
Or maybe you find your center
On the other side of a plume of red granite dust,
Where the asphalt ends and the rivers
Are more than almost-forgotten signs
Beside a divided highway.

If you were here, I'd sing to you
You're on the other side, as the skyline splits in two
I'm miles away from seeing you
But I can see the stars from America
I wondered, do you see them too?
So open your eyes and see
The way our horizons meet
And all of the lights will lead
Into the night with me
And I know these scars will bleed
But both of our hearts believe
All of these stars will guide us home

Some impossible goodbyes
Like a farewell embrace
For a wisp of tobacco smoke
Or a parting kiss
From the vapors dancing at the rim
Of that favorite chipped teacup
You carry with you wherever you go

I felt a tree's heart one summer
Night after the heatwave;
The wood was damp where abandoned
Roots drew the cool groundwater, still
Trying to make cells, shade, and scent
As they'd done for more years than I
Walked by without pause,
Until the tree was gone.

It is for no ill will, no caprice on the part of fire, but for love. Man wakens fire from sleep, feeds her, cares for her, and keeps her alive. And so she smiles on him with friendly light, warms him, whispers to him mysterious songs, and drives away all that would sting, bite, harass, or harm. For as man loves fire, so fire loves man and delights in his company, all the more in wild and lonely places.

In June, I saw
A beautiful white spider
On my backpack.
It was eating a mosquito.
I will write a poem
About it later.

O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I go my labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.