More on: Poetry

I think he planned it, sort of, from the start; whether he knew they’d choose the fruit or not, he scattered hints around the garden, what to do in case they got themselves kicked out. A shirt of fur around the lamb. The stream converting water into syllables. Bamboo pipes. The caps of mushrooms round…

Sister storm, hurling your javelins too near our window, don’t you care if in darkness, we splinter like a bright waterfall, if we catch fire from the sparks you send flying from the grindstone of night? You have cracked our sky with lightning; you have made glass pitchers of our bodies and poured our spirits…

Imagine someday the splurge drains out of fall. Holding a melon you know a creek of light streams inside its rough burlap ball, but if you cut it open you know stars will fall extinguished in the dark. You know the quarrel of the squeaky porch swing, know the cold that stacks goldfish like knives…

It’s what I need to practice, the lines of my life too neatly drawn around the comfort of being here. It’s why I’m out here again, in the middle of the field just as the day pauses between what is and what was, darkness rising up between the hemlocks and spruces that have brought their…

  I stood in the Jaffa Gate and played harmonica for tips. A cluster of men in Arab dress surrounded me, bewildered, smiling. They had never heard a harmonica before, nor could they see, behind my hands, this sound I held to my lips. The long cry of the muezzin, undulating among corbelled roofs, towers,…

In this late season, who is the woman at the well drawing water, reflecting on the woman at the well? Millennial fissures in the well-rim, weed-choked cracks where brackish water rises for the woman at the well. At the bottom of the well shaft, the sky’s reflective eye opens, closes on the shadow of the…

We’ve left the crib, the family animals, the unstable first trinity. Forgiven the all night journeys made in haste, the rough beds, the secrets and baffling dreams. Since our father left us, his words in our ears orate a baritone poetry, wild and strong enough to hold the yes and the no. Again the sun…

El Niño slips across latitudes, rises dripping from the ocean From seafloor mud, El Niño brings up the secrets of childhood El Niño crawls in the manger, time runs out El Niño rocks himself dry on the edge of a continent Prairies of wheat go unpollinated, there is rumor El Niño is killing the honeybees…

I pledge allegiance to the doomed life, clumsy person, old salmon that batters up a shallow stream. Marked for hurt by this failing, arrested by a simple glimpse of struggle or cruelty, I see the hopeful swagger of a grown person in a child’s bravado, or the childish hurt in an old-face defeated stare. The…

The road takes you from there to here. Here is where you are. Time takes you from then to now. Now is what you have. Language takes you from what you have to what you have to say. When we meet, this is your gift. And writing takes you from what you have to say…