(I was going to place a collection of haiku here simply because I had no place else to put it, but the spacing did not transfer when I copied and then pasted the text, so what is here instead is a very, very, very long poem.  It pleases me, so I’m leaving it this way…)

 

 

I look at my hand

dawn pale and blue through the glass

enough light to read

you could write about

the omelette    then go

out and start the car

could we go a day

and not brush the thing away

with the word okay

just you and the wren

even that poignant dictate

an unwelcome voice

lavender and gold

light lifts the sheet and peers in

briefly    dawn is done

cold and numb as glass

transparencies on the shelf

do not count your days

listen to the laugh

of gravel under tires and

a rooster crowing

memory of snow

new flames grow in the new chill

we could walk and walk

copper pine tine time

drop sting stand seems to soften

still stiff till step snaps

the grey road and sky

both lifted by yellow leaves

the glow of caught light

this wind’s out of place

it roars its own errancy

till the exiled end

dance in rubber boots

splash puddle befuddle squish

we run from the rain

we pass dark brown groves

when did the pecan trees turn

this year we missed it

walk the morning road

the crows call    the cows moan low

feel the cold sun grow

one spine on the shelf

is a cracked and scrambled void

you must approach it
a tree spiraling

carnival light    my neighbor

strolls in a parka

the mind’s cold grip on

what we call nature    we love

our adopted child

while bringing coffee

from outside a bird’s bright squeak

it’s a bit chilly

reduced to two tiers

two piers    at least one dipping

down while one looks out

early November

the moon casts a deep shadow

blow out the candles

look through the screen door

order sizzles in the eye

dew light on the grass

once the rain stops

the crisp echo of a finch

the chill damp black flakes

we’ll crawl through this cracked

window and feed the wind forge

the cold hungry call

what is absent what

empties husks orange and red

what drives our eyes blind

morning fog brings more

more beyond more to push through

more sight more resolve

the sycamore tree

its trunk twists with history

leaves float like red smoke

sunlight breaks the lines

stipple in little notions

wait for a flutter

black licorice pines

smudge over and blot color

this is the drive home

distant mountains move

as this platinum light moves

hushed call of rain wind

are these thoughts or doubts

immobile by this brisk hum

sad to judge such things

these extremities

cold burn past the outer reach

we’re all satellites

pen lines leave lambent

interstices and then bleed

out empty edges

churning trucks men with

chains a neighbor’s loon-like hoots

pines spatter collapse

ecstasies occlude

the bare blue of sky is gone

these clouds shift with life

by the litter box

a damp patch renewed daily

this is how it is

grime dotes on the panes

windows write the morning cold

we consult our dreams

 

a few wild roses

clasp to the eye in the cold

beneath the soft veil

 

some morning orange

through the window a surface

reflects the sunrise

a place to see dawn

somewhere to sit and wind tight

the few first small strands

the chroma’s chill sheen

eyes happy with abstraction

and remembering

laureate profile

brio gusto bravado

o mere espresso

ripe grass   feathery

tongues speak the sun   in chapel

candles for lost friends

what’s left of the walk

now our air is cooling down

clouds cover like smoke

the dogs are restless

scratching licking panting hard

no sleeping for us

two decanters

on the shelf with the geisha

storage or display

time for a quick snack

there’s spicy pickled okra

and chocolate milk

in the small hollow

beneath the car door handle

a tiny tree frog

absolutely still

the leaves slightly pale and dour

why this lifeless rage

peonies unfold

sleepy pink cosy blankets

moist morning air

still the theme is wind

the flicking of those branches

signs at a distance

turning a corner

a breeze assaults with autumn’s

final authority

small buds shaped like pearls

throned among attendant leaves

fringes seep dark red

every year worry

is fiery transformation

underway elsewhere

Inuit envy

the vital substance    seeking

more ways to say gray

our open-toed days

squirrel with undulating tail

dog sits on her head

slowing on the curve

vast carpeting of black birds

they are not startled

pry open a place

in the phrase to hide amid

unnamed turning leaves

ornamental grass

lifting waves lining the path

to misty pastures

wearing her new shoes

today    I hope I don’t look

like I’m a scene kid

lone crow on the line

we both look back behind us

the point grows too fine

the cat paws the shoe

our game’s done my friend and I

stand victorious

birds scatter motifs

collect a few and fiddle

composition tip

for Fall the green leaves

exits through wee rivulets

winding through the wind

suddenly mushrooms

loose and friendly assemblies

time lost in the shade

it’s September

time to wear the harvest shirt

oranges in plaid

pawing at the door

sodden heavy gray morning

the edge of the bed

she calls me over

it’s time for a new tea pot

look    what do you think

cloudy arena

soon we might open windows

pull down that dead limb

thunderstorms finish

buried creek’s final trickles

black fatal berries

clematis saddles

the fence to sit where the sun

touches perfectly

identifying

a certain variety

it thrives on neglect

we lift ourselves up

legs laboring on this road

breathing the morning

mother and daughter

a heart talk on the hammock

hint of summer’s end

fidgeting curtains

a few bowls stacked in the sink

the radio mumbles

a drop of lemon

fogs the water in the glass

one empty doorway

a crow cries follow

willow leaves drop to the ground

sound of a black cloak

what is this tree called

shawled in the will of autumn

numb to my damp hand

moon and lamps mix beams

dreams are shadows in the yard

hard to remember

haven’t walked lately

even though mornings are cool

foolish excuses

dwindling afternoon

soon this warm rainfall will end

spend or save the wait

creatures are running

cunning scampers past twigs and leaves

thieves of life and death

cold eyes of the moon

soon to see the beloved

led past where time stops

a rusted fire pit

it won’t take the weight of wood

could try some pine cones

edges blurred by rain

pain of an indistinct view

new small wet patches

a moment ago

open windows found birdsong

long notes search the air

image of the dew

stewing for several days

always words away

crabapple colors

scores falling all gumball round

pounded by footsteps

which    beautiful sky

lighting up blue   when   last night

bright clouds   yes   at night

trilling canopies

leaves winking at the sidewalk

talk lost in wind gusts

morning’s cold clamor

morning’s flaking gold sunlight

tightening grandeur

fence is gray and white

bright repeating curlicues

views multiplying

the sun’s autumn slant

antic height of ancient trees

these lanes of promise

the wind roars at will

illustrated just briefly

leaves ruffle your glance

dark open doorway

a few minutes before dawn

on the loud threshold

love is poison red

edible or not we guess

testing the berries

brief scrolls of dry bark

architecture for burning

sting of drifting smoke

would we awaken

entwined and breathing the cold

older than these woods

fog on the ball field

yields its chill to the sunshine

fine time for a walk

ladies please we need

pure sparkling crystal nostrils

to ring these high Gs

the clashing kazoos

nightly news empty pews the

blues of two by twos

we lie in ashes

morning darkens the bruises

dreams peeled unfinished

violets in my hands

the stones are stars above me

no one understands

suspended sign

the sun welcoming us west

late drive with top down

no composition

for the clouds no lines binding

the enormity

scrubby growth    the glare

of red light picking clean a

decimated barn

they charged to the far

corner and began to bark

pressed into the fence

library garden

stroll prowl a-maze-meant chase

taste glance branch delight

a hard-pressed release

of grit on the glass    little

grains of moisture

we smile   we’re grateful

for the wind    a spattering

of cold and light gold

the dread in a day

that can’t begin till it ends

run to the storm clouds

the green of these trees

stings tightens rings high in this

open enclosure

mimosa greetings

from that shady patch where the

way home bends and dips

air beyond balmy

new growth on the wild rose bush

sanguineous stems

the ghostly yellow

clutching of a severed vine

at the root ants swarm

blue morning glories

tasting the chilled dew   the sun

still low cool and soft

item under spring

pressure    true enough   but this

summer pressure’s worse

lost in late morning

stumble through an interval

buzz of cicadas

roots displace asphalt

curled up in a warm crater

a visiting cat

dark wood a word wards

new word way through siren sounds

whose rest cue is it

moist dark soil in a

small cup on the window sill

seeds slightly covered

we are motionless

watching the fan blades inscribe

their summer circles

look at the flowers

a kindergarten marker

added this purple

no cultivation

just long years of weeds and grass

burned smooth by the sun

with the rain a past

touches    why tense against it

this soaking curtain

don’t forget about

the ripening bananas

small assurances

tight-lipped growth today

nothing waiting nothing said

oaks lit from behind

insufficient light

lumps and blots about the room

it’s all unfinished

a weaving young tree

a fence lattice    leaves thrown out

verdant heraldry

she turns the corner

in the museum and finds

ancient mockery

overcast blanket

as if its tight wrap is time

light burns it away

once it was their swing

this faded rope on the branch

smiling waves and walks

finally the pines

taken as companions

in the home that’s here

silent and empty

a leafy proscenium

red fluttering blur

orange flame blossoms

succulent kalanchoe

it’s pronounced ko-ee

slow and rollicking

branches dance in a strong wind

sharp crack of sunlight

what’s outside spills in

everything’s the heat of skin

scattered sunrise pinks

we’re walking the tracks

grilling rails toes on the ties

quiet no noon-day freight

thumbing through the past

with a friend and then swapping

a few collectibles

tilting toward North

the light grows out of itself

a half-lidded house

rainy skies leak dawn

grey drops filling out grey thoughts

lives grabbing the keys

girls dress like gardens

butterflies and dragonflies

scruffy scratchy sun

one window view crammed

with blurred leaves    shadows arrange

that’s all a face is

a want the want what

want what wants when it wants I

wants are the weak wants

why is it as it

is and what is it and why

is it what it is

rain without fanfare

wet porch damp dog heat no wind

squinting in the light

bouncing over the

fence ball lost the dog looks back

stillness and crickets

thick sky canopy

silent alabaster light

sealed and airless dome

Pink Opaque album

downloaded it    Cocteau Twins

eternal soundtrack

these bright flares of doubt

lost behind little blossoms

cool somnolent shade

a country basket

peaches soften and sweeten

shiny tomatoes

they’ve purple bushy

petals    gold center    hanging

from a hook drying

two empty rockers

painted a vigilant white

a motionless flag

deep bowl burnt orange

buried within the cherries

a few strawberries

two caladiums

recuperate on the stoop

many jug refills

three miles out of town

road traces of a rain storm

smell the wet static

the whole house springs up

its paws rattling    the day

is bringing something

cattle in the pond

all of them    look    all of them

she’s clapping her hands

willow leaves flutter

warm currents do the plucking

morning deceptions

clay the color of

summer    scratched away layer

by layer    dry clouds

the indigo spires

threading with heat    quivering

above the nettles

says pomegranate

foetid odor now forcing

a taste    it’s not bad

an owl announces

itself purposeful in this

indifferent heat

nothing but this heat

something’s trying to lick me

off the planet’s face

luxury of flies

of lists of windows of no

I won’t or maybe

air brings all sense to

us yes two senses of sense

no air since last week

piano    tables

chairs   legs    lifting silhouettes

the glow of the floor

what seized this old elm’s

imagination and swerved

its first branch skyward

come morning the cat

cries for milk    wrinkled bedrooms

no sleeping children

there’s the secret glade

the word is already gone

late afternoon light

heat can’t be described

instead we weigh it    I watch

my feet as I walk

temperate moments

patience to live without and

with oneself at once

in back is this one

exuberant patch of grass

leaves like eyelashes

she sends an image

tight curl stretched from edge to edge

an Atlantic wave

an absolute blot

it rolls up and weight stays it

a severe curtain

the hawk lifts and spins

its eye turning with the world

no need for a nod

dad this rain’s scary

one wreck already do I

pull over and wait

wet pines glow like stone

too dark to help with waking

or with anything

as if longer days

are older and less concerned

with you and your cares

the sun stops baking

the porch around four or so

creatures gathering

this morning the sky

falls appleward clattering

with absurd song birds

love red is blood red

I guess    plenteous    but no

exotic fire reds

dandelion farming

or condemnable lawn care

it’s all perspective

ivy odalisques

drowsily curled on brick steps

airless green swelter

hands behind the back

looking up    how’d the tree die

pose for a photo

sitting waiting sees

a rain puddle word searching

shimmer coruscate

obsidian stack

top heavy tilt of thunder

hope it will topple

river after rain

brown with bed mud    cat tail fleece

drifts   lights    meanders

a brief inquiry

from an old tree    abiding

tenant    your answer

hide in mother’s skirt

climb up the low milky arms

child’s magnolia

take the plant outside

rain will wash dust from the leaves

orioles echo

breaking formal molds

writing about our Molly

she is beautiful

drooping gerbera

its face a void in the dim

idea of a room

one nameless mountain

one bending bow of a road

light rain   grazing mare

eastern gold glistens

but senseless still lies sleeping

alongside the chill

a flowering vine

endless opportunities

its lines in longhand

rain pats andante

squeaking open the window

a cool breath descant

let’s leave the sapling

one day someone will have a

spindle for their world

she intones and plucks

rhetoric and reference

cosy red berry

the air sharpened us

planing our peripheries

vital lift and drift

these ornery shrubs

won’t be cubed or squared or killed

flames in a wind fight

unknown words crawl

up the fence on a green stalk

without flowering

prowl lope moan claw cry

trail tree strut hiss spit howl bite

Blues with dogs and cats

a rose abandons

will and opens everything

life and love’s full end

up to the mailbox

a crow gargles in the heat

fleet snaps of crickets

a neighbor left a

paper towel wrapped bouquet

antique white roses

chipmunk’s copper glint

look you never see them spring

so exposed to roads

notice our rain days

now ask us to carry more

now we dream breezes

a cadre of five

plot with double reed piping

then black wings aloft

penumbral mischief

as we pass into storm clouds

all life seen seeing

these few dandelions

dot dimensionless ether

gentle lawlessness

not on the table

not enough sun what about

here?   better?    see them?

oven hour’s over

now few precious cold wishpures

what grows on the fence

her lovely moon phase

slight sliver slice cycling

a scythe for soar eyes

young holly Eye’ve Eve

by the bush prickly punsure

staunch this bluding harm

my comb drag kid chore

South pines rake tines needle lines

no leaf leap pay off

the garden sleeping

moonflowers    the rims of night

their hushed outpouring

this dogwood blushes

perfect motionless ardor

soft breeze on my neck

a delicate bird

wriggles through dust stones and straw

then hops up and off

kneeling from the trunk

bearing a bowl of milk    one

tiny apple tree

open every door

and window no out no in

all wind all shadows

sight suddenly tugged

by the Japanese maple

red velvety depths

will she notice the

first emerging bud and say

look   a knock-out rose

we’re slapped by wet leaves

mute hues green and black with dew

the weight of chilled breath

lots of talk of lots

ribbon to ribbon we walked

inexplicable

let’s walk down our street

turning toward that tangled stretch

to see the bamboo

we get used to things

fresh flowers on the table

cat on the table

soggy indigo

clouds in retreat    dusk glows gold

long scratches of trees

red camellias

their buoyant dance on storm winds

sturdier than hearts

wild azalea

blooms brought inside very soon

close like umbrellas

blue   full and empty

half the time    sky seems alive

where else can I look

wounded petals lost

but delirious storm winds

find another truth

yesterday the chill

left too soon    all dislodged soil

dried    faded to dust

our shepherd barks

a dogwood limb floats in frame

so many birdsongs

over the rise sheared

planes of sun drop through ice clouds

rotund leafed giants

the path still shadowed

fragrance of wisteria

tender choke of vines

something seeks to use

troublesome tenses    stealing

precious syllables

leaves ask for patience

each an open upright hand

a long wait for figs

the roots of this pine

feeding close to the surface

still make us stumble

stay like this   damp    cool

the sky’s wide metallic sheen

wet curling leaves    wind

storm’s piecemeal advance

higher partials of birdsong

flashing messages

nothing good to say

about blue jays  seeing two

recalling Dad’s view

these azaleas

miss the first hoopla of Spring

we wait for purple

the sound of dispute

cold winds shoulder resistance

to the growing warmth

this morning’s limit

my unsheltered shivering

lunatic vigil

each raindrop seizes

a small blossom to witness

its dissolution

this sky should be shared

this ancient pewter tankard

full of rainwater

a few splotches of green

on the bank three cardinals

poised and attentive

what would more names do

for these scattered clouds    a moth

settles on my shirt

a broad costly arc

the pine branch dips with treasure

cradling tight green cones

the wooded hillside

not yet obscured by the Spring

our pact still exposed

tracks run alongside

barbed wire woven with wild shrubs

beyond that    pastures

young leaves are dying

from a snap frost    they roar red

before this late sunlight

a squirrel flickering

somewhere its world assembled

in bits    word by word

during her breakfast

she pauses and turns to me

she likes hearing birds

momentary slant

late sun touching sycamores

an old lane invites

blossoms have fallen

the tulip tree spreads its skirt

moist and sorrowful

two egrets leaving

early sun and endless grass

its green translucence

marsh soil is slate grey

bright grains    then the infusion

of brine and blackness

Sapelo marshes

would we ever beg for love

with abject fragrance

pines grip a red slope

dry suckle of memory

the heat has odor

clouds on the skyline

drain shadows    unexpected

small purple flowers

let the tailored rows

of pear tree blossoms approach

reckless galaxies

before dawn the moon

or some dream of a blue sun

a chill on our arms

an old horse    gold as

the winter meadow    submits

tethered to our glance

immobilizing

faintness of this morning’s light

three dogs on the bed

perhaps fat with eggs

a wren bounces on the sill

shattering the view

this warming sunlight

slender trunk of silver    Spring’s

deep crimson seepage

old ivy wrapped tree

it’s branches claw   no   I claw

through venous rapture

a grey barn unrolls

triangular weathered grand

I should stop but don’t

barely swollen buds

draw the falling flakes    they cling

the branch tips twinkle

children on the slope

snow still falls    a thick silent

shower white as cream

frost light has a sound

a bright squeak    a bird somewhere

just one    unanswered

rain mutters under

thunder    the sky unfolding

dim light for reading

precisely as I

turn the pine branch twists deforms

thrilling flirtation

an ugly hope here

crepe myrtles lopped to their trunks

they had grown too full

beyond the treeline

dampness broods    our last fire’s ash

spread around rose thorns

trees clutching grey sheets

loyal enemy of spring

the cold wish of wind

some days a garden

would be nice    fence with ivy

a low place to sit

rabbits spaniels saints

concrete casts    shadowy stains

of life    black and green

momentary light

realigns a room    golden

orb of the morning

can you see them there

by that old damp shovel’s blade

the early onions

the hushed din of birds

embellishing the legend

bards of last night’s storms

a creek’s adventure

through the ravine scramble down

toss in a pale leaf

the thing to notice

first is the empty hammock

then the empty oaks

a sleeping turn to

the light    blind lifted    cats know

no interruptions

a fire warms the late

afternoon light    a dog tries

the wine and walks off.

in here everything’s

in piles    something’s wrong with that

dogs trot back and forth

you know the window

is half open    dawn’s cold air

thick with memory

black sky    a bare elm

two crows on top   then three    then

four announcing rain

nothing close to green

in view through windows   through thoughts

a vast gleaming grey

cats leave the willow

infinite delicacy

down the spiral steps

at dusk black branches

pulse    life pushes towards us

close an eye    it stills

somewhere above geese

offer stippled chattering

whippoorwills answer

incendiary

an oddly cold word today

this frost-free morning

a single teabag

dangles in the holly bush

still damp and heavy

leaves screening the light

and at work in each warm cell

a dream of rescue