tongue hanging out
he runs around in circles
grinning
old Jack the Dog
after answering the call

graffiti
on the freshly painted
wall
as cars go by
and traffic lights change

late summer sun
yellow crab apples ripening—
deer candy!

A musty feel for the ancient
Took possession of this child
     of Virginia,
Where every field of play
Was a field of ghosts from
     the dying battles’
Dripping carts, dripping air,
     dripping red earth,
And the dripping sun’s slant
     in Fall.

When I was a boy,
I lived near wilderness,

and on cold, bittersweet,
windy-sky days
I sometimes ventured out by myself

to sit
and feel
and smell
the crisp wind,

and I could feel myself

in the trees,
in the sharp,
rotted-quartz rocks

and the red clay earth.

where once was singing
a fallen wren’s nest baking
on sunny blacktop

In the still churchyard,
a blood-red blossom—
April morning.