adios

this blog has ended, thanks for reading, my new posts will fall here

Otter Creek at Belden Falls

divide & fall, two times & more

boats climb your bank for portage

conglomerate machinery straddles

your east flank, overlays of

concrete & steel, bolts, pipes

gear that powers towns

rippled glass pours down your brow

tumult below, boil & froth

spill across massive boulders

spiral through wide & narrower gaps

arcing above you a hiker’s bridge

chain-link toe & finger holds

to guide me up & over

a plunge if that day comes

Pholcus phalangioides

Don't worry spiders,

I keep house

casually.

— Issa via Robert Hass

all I’ve done for nine months is travel 

what have I learned? what’s the prize?
a newborn seems a prize until it’s crying

I’m sick of moving house, yet here I am

in a house not mine, a bare space, not unlike

any place where life must spring from a pen

to fill the hollows — here’s a gnat, in the sinks

are crane flies & daddy longlegs, Pholcus

phalangioides, aka skull spider — Wiki says

it's like but not a crane fly, aka Tipulidae

some call Opiliones daddy longlegs

though they aren’t, they’re harvestmen

the air in this room brims with Arthropoda

come clades, settle this latest home

Beatrice

I weep for her. John weeps.

Our minds fracture into

search parties. Hunting

on beyond six days

& seven nights, we fear

as she fears. If we are not

to find her, give us a caverned

corpse, a limb, a scatter

of bones to make a cairn of.

We know how strong preys

on strong, how the strike

the wound, the play

plays out, memory of each

mouse, spells of defiance

attempts at escape, casual

buffets & final blow. Like

her namesake, she’s taken

too young. We know

she fought. We travel far

lifelong. We are never done.

Deaf World

hubbub of a city park, whisper of my mind

walking along a paved path, others talking

aloud, a boat — white strings, triangle

of flimsy cloth, silvery hoops & nails joining

three pieces of wood into a proposition

set loose on a pond, motion proof of a breeze

I stop to feel, the sail filling one way

the boat going another, what suggests

a boat will return? a boat might fall over

send boys, their fathers floundering

what if a loitering child or fathoms claim it?

pantomime a world where I presume to speak

everyone a stranger, changeable winds

it’s not my boat, every boat I fancied lost

Laboratory

a room of large tables, shelves of bottles

the glass brown or clear, the contents liquid

some are tombs for bodies, for body parts

what I learn is the smell of formaldehyde

the look & feel of a glass pipette, a pointed tip

submerged in a beaker of distilled water

“it’s like a straw,” my grandfather says

“draw the liquid up beyond this mark”

an etched number next to an etched line

“then stopper the pipette with the tip of

your index finger, tap to release drop

by drop until the liquid level meets the mark”

this practice, this exactitude, lifelong

Single Track

gray chips trace a narrow berm

between two slopes, left down to

a grassy ditch, right down to roots

of taller-than-me grass gone to seed

& spiking thistle, “ride the line,” I cry

aloud, pedal steady, front wheel

straight, thistle grabs, velvety plume

caresses, I stop, pedal again, stop

to pant, to breathe, there'll come a day

when pedal & breath run together

What To Do about Texas

MacKenzie Scott, Melinda Gates, Dolly Parton, Oprah Winfrey, & other mega-wealthy women promise a free trip out of Texas & a free abortion for any woman who wants an abortion

corporations suspend all business in Texas, e.g., Amazon will no longer to ship to Texas addresses or offer cloud service to Texas-based companies, Verizon cancels all mobile service contracts, Apple closes all stores, Delta Airlines no longer flies to Texas, Ford closes all car dealerships . . .

New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, & Louisiana set up border patrols & deny entrance to cars with Texas license plates

this is the non-violent response, violent response remains muted for the time being

Plank Road

gravel fills the road

autos, farm trucks, graders carve

bicycles gambol

 

Way Stations

each place has its graces

animals outside the doors

natural light, flowers & trees

hiking & biking close by

& each has faults — old stove

or no stove at all, lumpy bed

stiff sheets, too steep stairs

windows that don’t open

doors that don’t lock, damp

& decrepit sofas, lamps

too dim to read by, a copper

sink that doesn’t drain

so many tchotches, dismal art —

when a rental ends

I’m always ready to pack

load the car, load the map

head for the next stop

Ein Ganzes Leben

ripples of a sunshot lake

wooden dock

twig of a red-haired girl

bare throat, arms, knees

stick for a pole

the line between her fingers

twirling a small fish

somewhere in Georgia

— after Rilke