On the eve of solstice I find
I am unable to stay inside,
My notion to prepare our dinner
At a reasonable time just floats away, and
Though my kitchen is flooded with
Late day light,
It feels like a summons
To wander into a new season
And so I come back outside, and
The light feels like joy
Recalibrating dinner intentions,
Repast can wait
In recall of breathing through
The vesper of these long twilights
On their ways to pink, peach,
And the purple deep, I travel
Far into vast salvation.
Looking out the window
Into the dark before
Sleep, emotions admixed into
Deepest weariness,
And it is, in this hour
Barely into a coming new day
So light, unnerving because
It is not the solstice yet come
That I give in to every scrap
Of unknowing, wherein lies the knowing
And I tell myself that
The roadmap is tucked away somewhere
In the constellations of my mind
Maybe in my heart, although
I’m not too sure about that.
I’m so tired, and not even
Too sure about why
But as my old boat floats out to sea
I wonder, could you ever
Come with me?
May 24, 1:15 AM
I sit outside on the front porch
Once in a while, on a late-lit afternoon
I come here
To look east across a reminding sky
Rarely telling east or west,
Such is the gift of ancient lakes
Reflecting mysteries,
Covenant of geology and sky
That no one can ever really know, since
No one sky here can hold the land’s light
Of any day much less the past
As the sky surrounds,
Pinks arrive, floating along stretches
Of trees’ limbs and illusions,
Rising on the fade of
Horizon; southeast giving to
A coming dark
Bird song, immense quiet, a
Sudden slash of rain awakening dry land,
Watering a thirsty latency of
Scent, bursting loamy,
Bursting fresh now into promise,
This late spring.
I thought to come to a blank page
