Earth’s Thanksgiving
It’s I that must be thanking you For who else rests his eyes upon my burning wastes Splashes barefoot through my ice cold streams Plunges her arms into the teeming soil Grows root and vine and life and child Wanders god-like in the meadows of my spring Bends to touch a flower to her skin Breathes the scent of morning mist Lingers his tongue on his lover’s lips Turns his head when the eagle cries Smiles across the table at his daughter’s eyes Without your love To taste these overflowing riches My clouds and trees My hills and seas Are void And I as cold and dead as asteroid
A Place
You won’t find this place The trail that zigzags up the mountain Avoids the sliding serpentine The crumbling cliffs The sudden drop through horsetail shadows And there’s another reason See how this hollow bowl distills the sky How the light years come to rest How the leaves vibrate And the gray grass sighs at the turning of the year
There used to be kumquats
there used to be kumquats she said I guess they don’t have the money any more we stare at the wilting plants strangers in the greenhouse through the glass brown grass and leafless trees on an ice-buckled sidewalk and empty traffic lights flashing on an ice-buckled sidewalk brown grass and leafless trees through the glass strangers in the greenhouse we stare at the wilting plants I guess they don’t have the money any more she said there used to be kumquats
And here’s a more personal one I reread recently that is on the CD Beasts and Beloveds but never made it into print. For advaita fans!
It’s Not Your Life
It’s not your life you said And I remember exactly where we were Not the time of year Or even the weather But the place on the levee With the river on the right As we walked back And the rusty pump Down the bank Among the rocks And the kingfisher Cackling in the cottonwoods And you were fierce The way you said it Not detached and indifferent Like the night before in Forestville But frustrated almost Wanting me to get it Urging me to catch up So we can play together On the same court And I felt so ashamed For complaining For having the selfishness To claim this series of events As my own To doubt the authorship Of this particular short story And the meanness To question The hand I was dealt When it was not even mine And I knew it But mainly I was ashamed For showing you my ugliness For letting you see My limbs bleeding with the pain Of not getting it But we played big stick with Honey And walked on Back to the car Between the vineyards Watching the evening settle over Healdsburg And slowly my life became a memory A series of shots Like this one With no place left to ask the question Then whose life is it For it’s not that it’s not my life Over the hills and down the river Houses friends and harpsichords Whose life could it be But mine No we’re not disputing that (Distracted for a moment By the cry of an osprey From the redwood Looking back At the place Where the pain and the pleasure Were mine To avoid or pursue) What we’re saying Back at the car now Honey climbing in Doors closing Click of seat belts Engine starting The sudden contentment Of nothing left to talk about Is that This simple crunch Of tires on gravel This hum of happiness This wet dog smell Is life Delivered But unaddressed