these obsessive thoughts
i can’t explain
i go straight to work
build a house of
i throw it in the air
or set it sail on time
as a gift,
a sympathetic contact
i can’t explain
The wind today is not rude.
See the leaves all a-shimmer.
Strong branches can also bend
If they look up the word grace.
And who doesn’t like cotton
Candy melting in the sky?
These boys are not rude &obnoxious.
Can’t you see there’s two–
No– three birds
Sitting on one telephone wire.
for Poetic Asides inspired by the Career Transition boys in 6th Period
I stand there looking at you, and you, and you
Long and long through this open window. My God!
Your feathers light as a whisper over fences and limbs.
Your face without lashes or mouth. I privately take it in
And my heart flutters standing in awe of yellow
Sun kisses bright in your throat. A fluency of feet
A supple verse that makes me grin. This is my poem.
A darling shadow of weightless wonders flowing soft,
So soft that it should rival your little cotton head.
Tested, alone on the Enchanted Forest trail, I traverse switchbacks lower and lower into coffin depths. Unearthing sea-foam beneath my feet, I round the corner to my destination when I happen upon a brown bear. My breath stops to look at it, a starfish I wish to toss back into the deep. Its male or femaleness is irrelevant. No, I recant. Of course, I’m stupid! A nearby cub, will set me praying against my mother; against the itsty bitsy spider. Bear tiptoes over volunteer grass. I kick against the goads; divine right-of-ways. Cattle-prodded, my chin hairs cave in. I double-back to consider harmony: dirt, rocks, stubbly yellow flowers, the hairs on my arms, my father. Salt licks my lips. Steady browness is bear; a cow in India, faultless and sacred.
Scholars will travel
An enchanted forest trail
Twice in a lifetime
The middle of the day speaks to me, and why shouldn’t it when I live so close to untamed country. Trespassing seems more like a divine invitation than a sin, so I jump the fence (again) and run. My heart races as I dodge bleached bones of a cow in rightly order, ruts carved in the dusty path, and wayward wire among the valley’s native grass. I run until I reach the dry creek bed, and before the machine shop dogs catch wind of me I turn back. Alone on this hoof-beaten path, I power over mounds of earth, going up, then down, before I’m taken by surprise by such an indescribable moment, that I hesitate before repeating It here. Some might call it a teaching, while others need convincing that a passionate warmth spreading over me is any kind of instruction at all.
Anyway, I stopped–
out of reverence for a holy consumption of me and the land, while everything faded to a weightless white. For a moment I thought I was being raptured through this personal bathing, right there in my sweaty socks among the sprigs of grass!