at four forty

rousing 

cat 

    comes to nest

rousing still 

turning rising 

forgiveness resilience understanding opens 

eyes rising sitting 

darkness still 

tee lotion socks light 

more lotion pants shirt 

proceed stretch make beds wash face feed cat 

heat coffee vitamins pour coffee 

plop relax breathe 

forgiveness resilience understanding opens day 

cat comes to nest 

A dread time anew

Oh new season half gone 

in bright phoenix enough

going going gone 

a yawn?

why aren't you now?

Ah grief. Oh new past 

you bleed wide briar in blue 

frogs to fawns 

last years grass comes death's morning last

taken from  Ifor ap Glyn's ‘Ar Ddechrau Tymor Newydd’ (‘At the Start of a New Term’)

Onid nhw sy’n gwneud ein haf?

Ein ffenics pob Gorffennaf

Ai gwegian pan y gwagia 

a wnawn? Yr ateb yw na.

 

Daw gaeaf. Ond nid gwywo

Yn brudd wna bywyd ein bro.

Cyfnod pan atgyfodwn

Yw’r gaea’ ym Morfa, m’wn.

a container in the afternoon for a thousand things

I walked in on 

such surprising intimacy & electric threads of real 

seeming to mix with a summer-brilliant afternoon sun 

streaming beaming 

from the open back door & small window in the 1/2 bath 

-our small back entryway- 

a passthrough to the backyard from the garage 

my parents sitting upon the gold very 70s washer and dryer 

i had never seen them so connected - so alive 

the yellow & golden linoleum steeped in shine and the intangible 

warming warning 

raised voices raised love 

as cancer dropped into our lives
to sit 

with my mother for the next twenty-five years 

simply spring

the daffodils popped up today  

rising up sun-bright-bumblebees 

beckoning spring’s warming bright rays 

the daffodils arrived today 

feathered creatures feed fly and play 

on greening grass and budding trees

the daffodils popped up today 

rising up sun-bright-bumblebees  

Outside Death's Terse Minute

Outside Death's terse minute 

how impossible our failure 

from 

In This Short Life That Only Lasts An Hour by Emily Dickinson 

In this short Life that only lasts an hour 

How much - how little - is within our power 

what

what is this fellowship between things we can not see but feel
things we wish we could touch but can’t

pulls & pushes 

awareness heightened 

a ghost or merely an owl?

what lies there unaware 

pulled & pushed 

patience is feathered & hollowed with bits of bone & terror 

mystery  

a ghost or merely an owl? 

what longing is found within the ancient sky-carried purr of a sandhill crane 

tucked between the clouds of Winter 

     and the rising warm winds of Spring? 

longing 

ghosts & 

owls; Antigone Ennui Bubo 

the enchantment of a simple brown linen cover

if you took the soil from April's cool fields

rolling it in your hand 

over & over & over 

sifting it diamond fine 

pressing it to earth firm--smooth 

circling your hand into the velvet dirt 

over & over & over 

it would become this 

simple brown linen cover 

words like seeds sprouting to shadows light daybreak & violet nights 

Cather: 

Early Novels & Stories 

Can you touch Spring here? 

Summer's dust? 

harsh blue winters? 

     tucked within its passages 

the sublime hiding behind the artifice of structured narrative 

"the plains reached out into emptiness, 

peaceful and wide as the soft sky itself, 

and 

wrapped in a tangible, white silence" 

black skies and yellow blossoms 

despair & prairies golden 

painted canyons to cities rich 

fine mornings of possibility 

meadowlark songs 

arcs of human love & loss 

every storm--every blue sky 

held 

in

this simple brown linen cover