Moving, Thinking

 Opening doors

Latching a gate

Framing an ingress

(Always an egress)

Stepping up, climbing over, and 

Scrambling through  

Patches of goldenrod

Thickets of bluestem,  

Asters and woodbine, 

Watching for signals from

Sky-topped starched fields

The harvest is past.

Balance doesn’t come easy

Despite all the options. 

Rain

Just how solitary 

Must one be when 

Rain on the metal rooftop

And an image from

Across the digital divide

Come near at once 

To surprise

Raw in the Moment

Forgive me

He comes in from his

Garden,

From the pond where he 

Swims,

In the lowering summer night-light 

He really doesn’t need

Focus

Any light

Is sufficient; 

I’m not sure he knows this.

He has one good eye, but 

Even that good eye is so not good

And hasn’t been, but he takes his

Glasses off when he swims,

And 

His Italian  

Features are 

Beautiful when he 

Snaps at me

No, no, don’t take a photo

So I do anyway and I obliterate 

His scowl

Thinking that the way

My photo looks after I ignore

His worrying

Is more than likely

The way this world looks

To him, unbalanced

Unwelcome

But what he has been dealt.

Conversation

Later on, 

Neowise

Crossed the sky

I saw it, elevenish, 

Not really watching, 

I’d only meant to think 

About it, how perhaps 

It flew away 

From chaos.

In the bedroom 

I pulled my chair

To look

Northwest, the way I do

And in the familiar sky

There it was, perfect,

What I didn’t know and

Wanted to see for myself

Just there, 

Then gone

Doesn’t even matter 

If there is a point

I found the comet, 

In the northwest sky

Under the tail of the Dipper, 

Something led me here in my life

To darkness, no canopy 

To shade infinite question

It just may be that

I’m moving to what is: 

Each glimpse a whole 

Earlier, some sky 

Announcing difference, perhaps

Meaning 

More beautiful than 

Nights before, 

I found a notion to just

Take pictures of the conversation in

My head, looking into the opening of

Nights on end. 

Who walks then, in to 

Stars, behind logic 

Constraints that won’t stand 

Any test of time,

I watch a sky, I 

Watch the stars, 

Not alone

July 23

Summer

Frogs, stars 

And big and little brights in 

The Dippers and Orion's Belt 

I watch the sky as night vision

Closes into far focus, I

Imagine 

Ancient skies, constant gazings to

The cloak of night known 

Beyond knowing 

Fireflies 

Brighten, disappearing into the

Plush of dark marine,

Fireflies?

Stars?

Do such things matter?

They don’t change the heavens

They don’t change the earth  

My inside eyes watch my watching

As night sky nestles down

Beyond the pale, gone glow gold

Barely seen now, 

Pulse and shimmer imagined, 

To the west.

From somewhere 

In the dark, 

Gunnar arrives

He was on patrol, and

I whisper to him, 

Listen

Frogs

We sit in repose, 

Heat lightning like

Moths’ wings, but no weather 

This night, lighting up into a day

That will arrive as we sleep.

Flickering, the

Celestial shifts on paths

Through old and primal wild, 

Following more 

Heat lightning.

I tell Gunnar, shhh

It’s far away, 

We watch and listen for the thunder. 

Mid-July

https://youtu.be/wWeK6YG4efM?list=RDwWeK6YG4efM

Figuring Out July

I sat outside to 

Pot lime basil, sweet basil, 

Curly parsley and cilantro,

Habeneros that didn’t make it

Into the vegetable plot 

Out back by the barns, 

I potted tall tomato plants

Already setting fruit for

My lonesome kitchen garden
Tu me manque

June 26