These Birds
I stand with brother heron
hallowed in his water
swift sister kingfisher
chatters from her sky and trees
We three worship
river, lake, salt chuck church
hunting secret swimming truth
and silver splashing dreams
A Leaving Sky
It's not something in the orange
instead the dark grey line into the blue
with the trees back-lit
from a gentle night sky
that hasn't yet said goodbye to the sun
The grass is taller than I am
and the rain left it heavy and wet
and the truck is loaded and gassed up
and I'm ready to get
Mountains, Two Parts
One night the lake was black as space
Reflecting stars
And the big mountain slope was half in shadow
But the other half the color of the full moon
Her trees wreathed with snow like scales on a fish
and her mood alive and terrible
She was alive in that place
Communing with the stars
Her slopes shone like metal
And her mood like a red hot sun at noon
Talking the long language of planets, a niche
and I knew she remembered a crucible
I pass her slopes often
and she's not been awake since
I wonder in the long peel of geologic time
did I see her wake once in a million(s) of years
and the lake's young depths, are no longer afraid
Two White Dogs
Lugnut and Old Boy bark at a four point buck
eating fermented apples
under a gnarled old tree
They bark at joggers
fit and annoyed
at the intrusion into their ritual
Two fluffy texans
french dogs left and rescued and
came home to the wet woods
the boggy hollow
Their shift starts before mine
Before I leave
And ends after mine
Before I sleep
They howl at the sirens
of police and firemen
heralds of needed help
And they greet the delivery
people so that they know
they may not stay long
They ward off the wild things
the raccoons and opossum
and yell at the uncaring ravens to begone
And the Coyote's call
the yammering yelps
sing a song of battle in Ranger's heart
so he paces back and forth and whines - "Let me at em!"
Then in the evening
they come inside, fences secure
treats and headrubs and wrasslin
Until we all sleep
Rex on the couch, sprawled out and
Ranger next to our bed, childishly close and wary as Cerberus
Write on my Coffin
Like they did for Grandpa that day I wore red
saw it too
Make the words scrawl instead of neat
no fonts or serifs
Let them be hard to read on the pine wood
rough cut and not sanded
Because I want to go back to ashes and dust
let your words go too
My memory will be the taste of well grown fruit
the mineral taste of venison
The smell of the dust in the air before the lightening starts
and the drops fall down
Heavy and pendulous like life itself
landing finally home, in the grass or in the dirt,
before being taken up again
to fall over and over and over
Water
She danced in the waves
leapt with joy
Sand fed through her fingers
smiling in the sunset
The edge of the world
And left the salt
and the long rolling waves
Ranks of breakers
and the soft floor
While the Sun boiled in the ocean
The clouds highway
Weather and river
Valley full of farms
Two tall towers stood
Into the hills
She slept like a charm
Tentative child
Speaker to dragons
Uncertain sapling
From the old uncertain tree
She dressed formally
labeled her case, folder and stand
Waited patiently
left and watched
I waded into the new place
Her nervousness witnessed by her mother
where do we go
Where do I sit
where do I find my paper
Over here
In the sanctuary
Dozens of children
Tuned up chaotic notes
Alone and different
Until a wand raised
In the sanctuary
Dozens of children
Played a single note
Beautiful and
They know
And I watched her write
on the score
And speak to the neighbor
playing next-door
and raise her horn, posture strong
Dozens of children
Who had not met
Began to play
As though they had known each other forever
Ode to Joy
She was back there again
In the saltwater beach
Jumping in the waves
wind in her hair
and I wept
Her tribe puts the mist in a spiderweb
Stacks the kernels on the grain
Hangs the snow on the mountains
The trees on a slope
Booming big as the sea
and quiet as the smallest spring
her tribe is gentle and strong
Stronger than me
February Vegtables
Stinging cold pinpricks on my ears
tiny ice hailing down
Grit mixed with sting around my eyes
soil and sweat
Cold plastered to my back and belly
cotton shirt soaked to the bone
A shoulder's twinging stitch
pulling at tangles of roots
I've been around
The birds sing and the sky dims
False dusk is coming
And a regal old fat ass robin sits on the pigpen fence
The buzz files through my brain
The malt is strong with this one
And the sinking sun makes me think of times long since
The old man and the sea and me
The line and tug and scales and bone
And the thinking son takes me back to the past long tense
Where the white bass roamed and rock bass hid under shelves of stone
Twilit
The sun left a tracer
as broad as the horizon
The wind took the clouds
as a current on a tide
Frogs chirp the midwinter song
until breeze shuffles needles
the firs dancing
The morning sun sent leads
scanning through the dark
when the owls call
and the rabbits scatter
To Remember Who I Am
I walk the path
Muddy through tall wet grass
To the gravelly bank
and stand in running water while the snow falls
I row slowly
oar blades pulling against glass
the face of water
in a high tree lined lake
I run out from a launch
to the sound of the my motor's call
against tides and chop
in the south Salish sea
I stand on a beach
in tide up to my knees
the sound the waves
in my ears...
The House in Valley
November 27, 2013
I recall growing up and visiting the house in Valley.
Fields my Grandpa planted.
The crowing of chickens.
The sweet air far from town.
Walking with my Dad, tracking deer
through a fresh November snow.
My Ax
November 28, 2013
A purpose of the ax, sliding against long sticks of cedar,
before making the fire, edge blunted that tasted concrete clumsiness.
Idle file in the toolbox knows steel and sharpness,
strongly grooved, confident.
Seldom they meet, until a bird needs readied for the table,
then compassion is in the sound of their embrace.
Fishing
December 1st, 2013
I went fishing with my Mom
because I learned to fish from her.
The rivers of Ohio with white bass and trout.
Yesterday the wind whipped around us,
but the rain held off.
Only a few bites and no fish to hand.
I asked her if she took me fishing
because she was worried about me.
She said, no, because you're the only
one crazy enough to fish with me on a day like this.
The Sea
The sea calls me home every day and I don't understand
Umanaya calls me and the sand gets in my toes
and the breakers are long out into the bars
behind them the swells hide the light
and the sun boils into the red
with the wind in your face
burning your cheeks
and you feel the done
Pit
Look up the black gravel
slide down again
the glittering sound as rocks cascade down
the pit in the center glows and steams
eggs rotten rise in the mist
Climb and slide and slide
knees touch the hot stones
sweat drips through them down
Get up and run and slide and slide
The horizon high and sharp
For one million years yet younger than the stars
Get up
Mourning
I'm mourning a place
even though I'm not gone yet
I know it's language and think often of it's people
then and now
I was born on the land of the prairie chicken
transplanted many times
grew and thrived on this land near this sea
But soon enough I'll leave
her it's names still on my tongue
pilgrim to a strange land
new words to learn again
Midwinter Sun
The holidays settled
just past a solstice
and the world was dark
in many ways
The rain was too much
and people forgot their way
that kindness is all
that matters
A field lay north
of a south line of firs
that the sun didn't peak past
since the fall
The sky became clear
and the light came over top
limbs laden with needles
warming tangled tall grass
A bit of good news
at the same time delivered
and I remembered the thing
I forgot
Darkness doesn't cast
though the days shorten through summer
sun from it's laziness will wake
and we won't suffer the darkness to last