At her casement, a love song
Sometimes the song becomes
counter-weighted with the secrets
it must hold back, swallows its
own tongue like the lead that keeps
the double hung sash positioned securely
in its track. Pretty panes will always
be cradled in the frame, slide upon invisible
ropes and pulleys, cushioned from the fall.
Laced with the delicate web that traces
shadows upon walls and tiles; the glass
admits the light as if its innocence is sufficient
dispensation. Its fragile clarity adds nothing
to the view, but rings it all with the simulacrum of truth
while unsung weights keep faith, with silence like a lay.
Global warming
The earthworms casting
their benediction, have come
at last to this bed amended
for so many seasons
sand, mulch, compost, and waiting,
wanting flowers this year.
The squirrels, have aerated
everything again, turning earth
and flowers under- destructive
buck toothed trowels breaking
up the plantings, burying
hope for next year.
I dig without the gloves I
left in the rain; there are
slimy things, fruiting bodies
a melting pantry, where some
things sprout, some things rot
some things soften, some things, not.
There are stones,
my nails are short,
I bury my fingers in the dirt,
raise palms.