Pond Night and Chorale

Good Christ

They’re loud, the frogs,
Basso profundo, they set up

A mighty warfare 

At the pond tonight, and 

All the little minions
Too, chiming in,

Brave alto warblings,

Such life everywhere around

Right here, bit of balance,

Eyes close to violet swoon, tho,

Lavender petunias, lifting off into
This sponge-painted sky.

Surrounded by Stars

Last evening, after dinner, 

We walked around this living place

We followed the light from the

Setting sun, where now and then 

It haunts

Through some low, brittle 

Evergreen branches 

Aged hardy into 

A sort of frame in a particular 

Spot in the alleé

Back behind the barns.

Anyway, I said

I can’t tramp there right now,

And when she got just past

The burrow, massive roots

Curling mysterious under a ghosted

Long gone tree, and deep

Organic in the slanting-sunset-

Shafted passage demarking, 

For the sake of maps and 

Deeds and so forth, 

The property line’s long double stretch 

Of old firs and pines, 

She paused 

On soft rust needles, 

On mossy scrub, and  

Because it was the twilight hour

The sun just so, and 

Glinting low, I saw its gold

Through that pungent aperture and 

In the dim she rather 

Vanished down the alleé, 

Until she passed by my watching and 

Then as if in slow motion, turned to west, 

To gaze upon

The fields beyond

When of a sudden 

The sun caught the claret ruby red

In her wine glass, perfect axis

Flashing 

Clear and claret, ruby, red

I will not forget that

All is well and good

Here in these sane, 

Giving, gifting pastures

Windbreaks and growing berms

Tonight the palest

Shadow on moon-silvered

Gathering cirrus harkens 

More rain coming soon. 

Tonight we speak of other

Energies and allow as how we

Err to not allow them in.

This night, though, promise, 

Everlasting beauty, and homeostasis.

Some things are simply

Bedrock

Composting into balance, and 

Although nothing is easy now, 

I am clear-eyed, 

Looking through 

The claret of it all. 

The Great Unknown of This

Big grey cloud stretching 

Across the western sky

Heading north 

Like a huge mammoth of

The deep

I fancy it heading for 

The St Lawrence then

To Terra Nova

Moving swiftly as to remind

That all things change as

They set sail

For better,

For dream,

For home

For new

The sextant sparks the sailor’s way,

And while it all,

Always, leads to 

An end,

How much better it is to know that 

The oft-unsteadied hand

Can reach and dare. 

Nothing is guaranteed 

Sometimes I rail and weep for 

Days and days 

And finally stop.

Relaxing, shrugging into

Calm, and waking into my 

Moonless inner landscape, 

The silver shimmers.

There it all makes sense.