I lie alone on the wood floor,
eyes closed, stilled
by a day of dance
for the new year.
Fingers brush my left hand—
a question I lightly
answer. We forage a silent path
within deep woods,
curl around each other,
nurture ourselves
with minute movements.
Forever.
When we must rise
I kiss her ear, Thanks—
and let go.
Already daffodils and wood hyacinths
raise their green spikes.
Alder tassels make […]
My partner buried eight human placentas
in a circle at our meadow’s edge.
A midwife, she invoked the feminine
from all directions. In turn,
I carved a twelve-foot cedar pole,
erected it at the center.
When she and I divorced,
the pole traveled with me.
I planted the shaft,
somewhat shorter by this time,
on property shared with my new partner.
Things with her have […]
A smile rides home
with me
after five days
of coastal backpacking
with old friends
and family.
I approach my single
man’s cottage,
know loneliness
is near,
nearer.
Is now.
What vast sweep
this feeling has,
how rich with fear!
I let the waves tumble
and tumble
me into the sand.
Finally,
cast ashore,
I rise
naked
in the sun.
Wind gusts
my kitchen window,
plucks
a long-covered note
from beneath a magnet,
thrusts it at my feet.
I feel you don’t listen to me,
or hear what I say,
complains my old lover
from across the years.
Pierced,
I sink
to the floor.
How
can this still
be happening?
Today loneliness
trumps my flair for
solitude, and I ache
while checking e-mails.
Suddenly
a box appears
on the screen.
My daughter
wants to e-chat!
But I’ve
never chatted—
how do I make it work?
I start pushing
buttons.
(No. 60 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
For decades
I’ve returned
to this rocky outpost,
sat beside this lodgepole pine,
gazed across Rosario Strait.
With wife, daughter,
subsequent lover—
now with only
this borrowed dog.
Sun blurs my tears
into star flies
that moisten lichen,
and call forth a trumpet
of Canada geese.
Somehow
it all makes
sense.
Orcas Island
It is impossible
to pedal my bike
through morning air
carrying sadness or anger.
The light is alive,
my knees young
and Queen Anne’s Lace
doilies
the roadside.
(No. 44 in a series of responses to Han-Shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
Late for the morning ferry,
my only hope this aging motorcycle
I haven’t ridden much lately.
It’s damp, cold—tough
on the elderly battery.
Flip choke,
pull clutch handle,
turn key,
push ignition.
Venerable 1100 turns over,
not too bad for a first try.
By the fourth,
just a spent groan,
dimmed lights.
Dammit!
Then, something never dared
over years of our relationship.
I stop, breathe, lean down
with leather hands,
embrace the outer carbs,
cylinders, […]
1.
We tried to plant a garden
some years ago.
Even putting in deer netting
turned into an argument.
The soil was not sweet enough,
nothing much grew.
Blackberries, scotch broom,
and sticky weed thrived.
Removing our old netting
required too much
effort.
2.
Spring breathes urgency
into an eruption of peonies
near my porch. Nearby,
Heavenly bamboo
shimmers in the sun
while my newly sown
chard and kale seeds
unfurl to the light.
3.
The […]
for my partner, Andrea
Roaring guard demons assault
my truck in the gravel driveway.
They leap and froth,
relentless walkway shitters,
midnight snarlers, minions
of my neighbor.
Lizard brained, I jerk to a halt,
throw open truck door, counterattack
with insane barks and growls.
Dark swirl joins me from the left.
Andrea, usually delicate and reserved,
in full Kali shriek, turns vicious
brutes to tail tucked curs. […]
