through the night
the snow fell in a silent soliloquy

when the angles and eaves
could no longer sustain it

it rolled off the roof in rumbles
crumpling in chunks

the snow glowed
with blue denseness

trees heavy
with the white of it

boughs heavy
with the weight of it

all morning
we poked with sticks

releasing the branches
in great gusts

of dust
when gathered in grace

we place
our hands together to share

a single word
a single prayer

amen

the fox alights
from a dark stand of trees

and down
through the deep drifts

of snow  
it is a myth

of woodsmoke
and vermilion

and it stands silently
beneath the streetlamp

before being led away
by notes we cannot perceive

for our part
we turn hopeful eyes

to night skies
and cling to the promise

of unspooled mysteries
however

at times
we are so savagely illiterate

to the stories
in the stars
  
uncomprehending to the roles
and lines

of constellations

isn't it enough that the wind
makes tumbles of the umbrellas

that dark staccato notes of rain
strike with such force that we pause
  
our busy little lives and marvel at it?
isn't it enough that the very next moment

the sky turns so impossibly blue
that we remember we all have wings?

swooping through
the shadowy spaces

of the narrow underpass
the crow came to rest

atop the fence
right beside me

delicate in its beak
the bird held another’s egg

tilting its head
for an instance

it regarded me
before hopping

upon the air
and was off

it that all there is to it?
the nonchalance of life

and death?  
there one moment
  
gone the next  
as everything spins

and turns
and beats

and breathes
into silence?

my mother veiled
in black

sat in her favorite chair
with her hands folded

over her rosery
she reached up

touched my face
and whispered

you look thin

such is grief
that bottomless reserve

that endlessly open wound
the pain  

has faded greatly
but its barbs
  
still live
with potency

and surprise  
they still dwell

in the dark corners
of dreams

in the secret places
of the heart

do the trees feel it?
are their boughs heavy  

with the change
and weight of it?

are the clouds concerned?
the ever pressure

of always building
of always seeking release?

do the wings worry about it?
the lean and pull

into onto
the wind?

despite all the responsibility
in

and of
this world

is there anything
anything at all

that is not
possible?

there is a line
between

the songs
of love

and the songs
of grief


this is what the silence said


there is a line  
into out of

the horizon
of earth

and sea
and sky


this is what the silence did

last night the wind had its way  
with this world

it waved and clapped its hands
and skeletons of umbrellas
  
were broken and inoperable
they fell to the wet earth

and were whisked away
it snapped its fingers
  
and bicycles and plant pots
lost their balance

and were unable
to right themselves

take the time
to tamper

with what is wild
be sure

to take your turn
to touch

what is waiting

with the slightest tilt
of its tail feathers

an imperceptible shift
in the weight
  
from one wing
to the other

the subtle bend of its body  
the hawk

made measurements and calculations
about the wind
  
swinging in perfect circles
turning in upward spirals

free and easy  
upon the unseen currents of thermals

then
as if breaking from a meditation

it found a crease in the air
and set out across the dark blue of the lake

i do not know
what will happen next

and my mind
is far too cluttered to care

but i once stood  
and bore witness to a hawk

showing me all
that was possible

it has been one revolution
around the sun
since you became the sun

it has been four sweeps
of the seasons
since you became the seasons

it has been twelve months
of moons
since you became the moon

it has been without measure
since you became

unabraded
address the day

let light shake
and shadow stir

unknot it all
and watch everything

in the world
give into flame

dance relieved
and weightless

and breathe
and breathe
and breathe

i have grown used to the moon
early each morning
waiting there above me

ever growing ever receding
for weeks now
the skies have been perfectly blue

first light prismed in slight violet
lingering just before the breach
of the horizon line

at night the stars
and planets
pierce with warm purpose

a world away
the wolves sing
in the dark woods

a world away
the whales sing
in the deep waters

a world away
we sing
to the ancient music of fire

grains
of sun

untied laces
of snow

urgent shadows
of birds

perfect shards
of stars

they are parceled out
in increments

of wonder
divvied up

in morsels
of joy

grey the low rumbling of early morning thunder
the heavy scent of rain and magnolia
however the calling of the crows declare that no storm will arrive

a doe stood silently
we watched each other with mutual curiosity
later i would come across another
holding out my hand she approached a few tentative steps
but stopped and quickly turned away

blueredgrey
bluejaycardinalheron

moss covered and motionless a turtle sat sunning on a log
a black snake freshly dead on the side of the road
its brilliant body already blunting in the afternoon sun

the gloaming shadows reached across
in ripples swallows and swifts scooped the surface of the pond
readying themselves for night the geese made their way to the center of the pond

the spin of a planet
the nudge of a glacier

the push of a wing
the blink of an eye

light whispers hello
goodbye

the voices in the leaves said
let us rest

we are weary
our bones are brittle

our skin fragile
let us gather here

for just a moment
to catch our breath

before the wind wakes
and casts us along

scratching
patternless

and disintegrating

the ceiling is grey
as are the walls

and the rain
the sidewalks

and streets gloam
with the wild litter

of leaves
faded colors

corner into collections
gather at the mouths of gates

they brew in puddles
steep in the chill

of november
the reign of autumn

is over
winter waits

for no one
which makes these last notes

all the more miraculous

in between the seam
of day

and evening
the entirety of the sky

and the november leaves
cinder in the same glow

the streets
and sidewalks are stained

with autumn impastos
in our arc

we wax
and wane

the many moons
our course permanently burnt

with the colors
of departure

and return
soon

in winter’s patient keep
we will close our eyes

and fill our dreams
with release

it made its way upstream
black shining reeds for legs

a body perfectly white plumed and winged
and that beak

a splinter of lightning
its long neck twisting flashing forward

ever patient
in the search for prey


we break time
down

into bits
dayhourminutesecond

we break time
up

into chunks
weekmonthyearlife

but there are moments
when time does not move

and this was one of them

november has been stubborn
with its lingering warmth

its slow turn to redyelloworange
and so i have arrived late

to an appreciation of the ginko leaf
autumn demands

and clamors for color
fancily dances its displays

of spark
and flame

but only now do i humbly behold
its green to gold

it’s perfect fans feathered
slipping free

and sliding silently
before finally settling

upon the ground


should you seek           inspiration
should you need          evidence of prayer

asked
and answered

here it is

what makes the music so?

what sets a sound inward
or outward?

what lifts the notes
from the page?

are you a voice
an instrument
in between the silences?

what does the bell
of life
ring for you?

the sun strikes
the first october notes

and embers
everything into color

the wind unravels
the leaves

they spin
and crackle within

soon
all will be raked grey

as winter waits
a world away

it has been grey for days
the crack

and scatter
of a concrete sky

the brittle air
the rubble

and rub
that dulls everything

beautiful bird
beware of things

that clip
and cut your wings

there
there it is

that clip of wind
a smoother edge to the air

the braided fade the sky now holds
the ginko nuts are beginning to fall

their yellow leaves will soon follow
there is a silence to the stones

a quiet to the clouds
the birds sense it

and theirs is now a new arrangement of music
colors slowly carousel into corners

the clock has turned
and returned everything

sometimes when i miss my mother
i feel for the pulse on the wrist of my wife
hers is steady and strong
  
waiting there
as my mother slowly slipped away
a nurse taught me how to find the pulse

in her final moments
when she stopped breathing
her heart ceased beating
and her pulse faded away
i felt it in my fingertips

so now

sometimes when i miss my mother
i feel for the pulse on the wrist of my wife
hers is steady and strong  
and i know exactly where to find it

october is my youngest month
i fly a thousand kites of color

i fill the sky in great spills of paint
i breathe as if for the very first time

my child heart beats in time
with the wings of birds now arrowing south

my hands dig deeply into the open pumpkin
and my soul glows like a votive candle

pushing light gently out

october brings the first snow
to the mountains

frost frames the leaves
all is set to tumble

tonight the moon
was charged and fully bloomed

even in my busy ways
it made me pause

what is it about this month
that stirs me so?

what is it about this season
that tears me apart

only to make me whole?

let
the geese
go short shadow south

let
the leaves
release into wreckage

let
the light
gloam red orange

let
a pulse
flutter silent

it is not
some great boulder
sysipheanly shouldered up the mountainside
of some mystery

it is not
some annoying stone
in the soul
of your shoe

it is not
a grit of sand
bothersome
to the eye

it is
a single thread
silkstrong
and forever tethered
to the allmemory

it is
its own timekeeper
that freely freights across great boundaries

it is
sourceless
without grudge or grandeur

and the mouths         of flowers sing
and the bodies           of the oceans dance
and the light              of the sun
and the light              of the moon
                                     promise
and promise

our time together
has drawn to a close

you have had
your fair share

and i mine
there were fair moments

when i was soft
with sorrow

hard
with loss

but there are many feathers in a wing
and you may have only one

it is time to find my way
through the sky now blue

before i am done
i must make my own path

to the resting sun

i am the only one here
and i stand in your place

occupy your shadow
the sun on my face

is your sun
the breath i breathe

is your breath
overhead kites of birds spin

tethered to earth by invisible strings
tonight the sky will blaze with stars

they will be your stars
the moon almost complete

will be your moon
i will be the only one there

standing in your place

last night
the wind wiped away

the rain washed away
all marks all evidence

every road
and trail

are now scrubbed clean
this morning is quiet

the petals ready
everything shimmers

with the promise of

ribbons of rain
curtain across the pond

in a chorus of stones
touch tapping the surface

unspooling in ribs of circles
within the trees

time collects in rings
roots seek the deepest mysteries

at the water’s edge
a heron

that ever seeing eye
stands searching for the shadows of fish

in a flash
its beak trades life for life


empty yourself         of this world
empty yourself         into this world


you will be                warmed & welcomed
you will be                feathered lightly along

i did not know the word for it
so i called out to the man

who was approaching with his dog
sumimasen abunai onigaishimasu

it was

green
be
yond
green
grace
ful
be
yond
grace
ful
per
fect
be
­yond
per
fect

i felt no fear
as the snake moved toward me

beside me
i walked with it

and saw it to the hole in the gutter
it climbed down calmly and went on its way

i still look for it
but have not seen it since

i fear something in this world
found it

and did not understand
such beauty

great mechanical animals wake
and warm to the new light  

giant silver birds roar the sky
and pull above the cold grey of it

the final clip of the moon
is pushed aside by the rising sun

a crow kicks the snow free from the needles
and dusts down the pine boughs

at dusk just below the tree line
deer by the dozen hunger for spring

it is without question or concern
that night moves quietly into place

we keep in motion
across the known
the unknown

we work the beauty
bountiful
and unfinished

eventually the stars
all darken and die

there at the edge
of sea and sky

life is a voice
and silence death

divisible between
beat and breath

do not be afraid
of what is left behind

do not be afraid
of being left behind

accept the circles
within and without

accept that the seasons
were are and will be

accept that we
were are and will be

the something
the nothing

ever graceful
ever beautiful

breathe
i           breathe

words separate
the silence

light’s brittle
and intimate ministry

liquid across the wall
looking forward

let us leave
ourselves behind

we      breathe
            breathe

after days
of rain

the sky
now blue
and bladed

drapes
and unbraids

with pop
and blossom

green shakes free
unfolds in a new geometry

this is the unchanging continuum
the fragile piece of string

infinite at both ends
and here we are

our brief blink
of it
in it
on it

impossibly balanced
and beautiful

a siege
of white herons

came to rest
atop the boughs

of summer trees
every now

and again
one would depart

or arrive
the whole of its body

folding un
folding

taking to the blue
or landing brightly

on the green sway
of each giving branch

is that it?
the obvious secret?

the easy give
and take

of simply walking away
upon the wind?

a pandemonium
of parrots

ridiculously green
against a perfect pale blue december sky

prattled
and shrieked with glee

they darted as they will do
this way and that

well above the ginko trees
still holding high in their yellowgold

remember this

when counting blessings
or giving thanks

sight and sound
heaven sent
or heaven bound

remember this

a hum in the head of the moon

a word in the wash of the stars

heard well above the din
brightly poured forth

red roaring light
in one last lunge

and done

a part           of yourself
apart            from yourself

dusted away
once upon a shelf

it has been a year
since i last walked the trail

so much of it now is overgrown
with summer vines briars wild grass and the lack of foot traffic

i was familiar enough with the way
and could follow along with the low river

i recognized the elbow of it
where the shadow of the heron flew

i remembered where the deer tended to settle in the blue shade
where the rabbits scurried into the brambles

much has changed in a year
or so the keepers of such measurements might say

it is only the stones who laugh at such peculiarities
it is only the blue of the sky who shakes her head and thinks

why are you still so in love
with the sound of your own voice?

a ****** of crows
clearly agitated by my presence

furiously called down upon me
from their shaded branches

with so many gathered in one place
i guessed that they had discovered

something that had recently died
a great summer storm had swept through

the night before and perhaps an animal did not survive
the wilds of wind and rain

i stood there a moment
trying to locate their prey

but could not
so i quickly moved on

leaving the birds to their work
we are all old souled

and kneel humbly before
the ever-balance between life and death

is there any more to understand?
is there any more to ask for?

sunday wakes in the center of the city
black lives matter plaza begins to stir with each bus offering more and more humanity
a homeless man stops to pick up a used cigarette from the sidewalk
he blows on it, places it gently in his pocket, and walks on

at the st regis hotel, i sit behind a 12 paned floor to ceiling window
it is framed in dark beautiful wood and curtained in heavy red velvet
i am waiting to have breakfast with my uncle
he is half blind with macular degeneration and his leukemia and prostate cancer are in remission
he is always well dressed and punctual
over $33.00 plates of scrambled eggs and smoked bacon, we discuss the past, the present, and the future
my uncle filters life through the signs of the zodiac and is always curious about birth dates and character traits
i keep my opinion about such things to myself

in the corner of my brother’s front yard stands a magnolia tree
its trunk and boughs are coated in pale green lichen
its crooked branches steadily offer baseball sized white blossoms of impossible perfume
all are too high for my reach
there is a large rock just beside the trunk that makes for a fine bench and from time to time i sneak away and sit there
such trees offer much in the way of ancientness and wisdom and I glean what i can

my uncle holds truth in the charts of stars
i in the trees

perhaps we are both crazy

so suddenly thundered
ripped from sleep

tipped tossed tumbled
out into the under

of such endless grief
and rubble

now
we pace and pray

now
we scratch and claw at wires and crumbs

now
we shriek with absolute loss

yet all the while
wishing and waiting and wanting

to rise
to rise
to rise

on the same side of morning
we walked toward each other

we did not share a common language
but there did not seem to be any fear  

we all wear our scars for the world to see
what did you make of mine?

at the very last minute
just a foot or so away

your orangeblack body disappeared
into the tall grass

all day i have thought of your death
and how you are now through

to the next truth

all the heat pressed down
until evening brought cooler skies

it all caught clapped
and collided

wind whipped the heavens emptied

both human and animal
humbled by such sacred science
took shelter and waited  

a turtle slides quietly from a log ribboning the water with mud

a rabbit runs across my path
and we both measure equal amounts of surprise

cardinals scoop
and line through the air making both red
and green seem impossibly so

the geese call out across the now prefect calm of the potomac

the world turns over
and we so wildly with it