1691
5.259
16.ix.24
they are turning
it’s an education
slowly but still
the colour comes
as day declines
things burnt
a bone misplaced
in deer skitter traipse
leafslid, trackless
shelves shale dull
with thus far time
it’s where afternoon
is decomposing
twig fingers
bare to reach
see the meadow upslope
know the house must be beyond
wonder under rock
is someone safe?
in the death of a tree
these beginnings
here to leave little
take less
just these woods
of a high up song
1690
5.258
15.ix.24
two poems in honour of
Ora Lerman
in the house of the
bunny and the brush
Soaring Gardens
the hills sunned outward
tractor wrapped
we are under black walnut
all here to be far
timber in paint
in the life that was
wooden whiskers
poise to pounce
a loyal stance still now
we are here to witness
flat stone walls
what’s there what’s not
someone like a kangaroo
someone like a tiger
the world green gold around
at the sign of the hallowed allée
door flung
we’re pharaohonic
eyes all amaze ablaze
a rooster, too, live at times
we’re the odd collection
have to do the trick
it brights the sky to ambulate
over the hills hear money run
but here the bunny of the bobbin sits
at the sign of the timber hopper, grass
page driven each on to the next
that’s time and we’re in it still
glyphside, cat over map
a fold in the geometry
the egg secreted and the egg attained
a rabbit all attention
life still, open mawed
and there’s parody of it
I make into words, let’s guess
some resigned, nor quite comedic
each serious, grim, to its own scale
at the work of being merely
least whence, this is place to be mossed
then are we trusted from a form?
quite still, calm, not about to leap
but there – it’s said
is this plane dimension?
the animal our own eyes in
place we see past, diagonals absolute
where birth is always about to be given
with what we call a soul
because we do not know at all
bright of
elsewhere in the brush
a painting of
the carving
of the
creature in mind
by way of
story far forgotten
it’s in the spirit of the place
we must remember
here
aura
in a boat
with a bridge
here and gone
another of flowers
a slightest sky
the picture nothing to the place
here we are
a room’s reflected
the head dress meaning
one must guess
so elven present
quirky calm
she – wraithlike, slight, ethereal
and hear the day outdoors
as if it were we
now here prepared for
all this squirreling away
trees at their pitch of season
those eyes
always looking out
never where I’m from
in a boat
with a bridge
here and gone
1689
5.257
14.ix.24
upwards of a hammock
leaf and blue
finding level
almost tipping
a deerleap fencewise
edge of eye
the honeyed air
the apple wilds
they’re falling too
through open time
we turn a page
the season told
come as far
as day gone by
and here’s a cast of shadows
last
by moonlight
bitten
so sleep
so
sunbegun again
in a window pictured
1688
5.256
13.ix.24
a window is less than
the eye
we are here because of
sun, too, turning – that’s unseen
and the tree fills – leaf and light
breezes upon us
dayshine
a heart is in the blood goes on
once few and now
clock hum in meadow drift
the outdoors hungry till
come scratch then a door
it’s all there’s to remember gone
a window is less than the eye
the head flies off first inkling
we’re led
once few
and now
all first naked
from skin to be so
some thought flightless will adorn
good glimpse you’ll know
it’s where today along of yonder
as much as is to say
even open eyes are more
1687
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12.ix.24
a squirrel inward of idea
what’s known’s
day chatter
fall flower
heads up
under text
the country
takes its
turns
passes through
us
lines
slope so
variously treed
with all the
season stages
mullein,
ragweed, goldenrod
the eye
brights all
leaves a long
way to go
keep thinking
of a picture
you’re there
