There’s a damp feeling of cellar to the spring.

Always a dark sky to be felt in the offing

with silent memories of thunder,

and mud abounds.

It’s the sort of thing you take, though,

when your back has had it with cracking

from the weight of the snow you lift or blow.

The pagan dread I feel some days

at the feel of life reviving

gives heft to the eagerness of sorting seeds

and planning forest walks with boots on

and rising hope for our companion.

February 24 2021

Men my age walk dogs along the river here.

We know the distance and the difference

between now and when we started.

We’ve lost more than a step or two along the paths,

and we’ve taken with us more than one friend,

but the men we someday will become—

who in their houses or linoleum rooms

read, or watch, or flirt with nurses,

and wait to take what comes—

they still call us youth.

February 22 20201

Democracy cradles dissent,

lifts argument to its ear,

and pronounces the prevailing will to be law.

It has no truck with violence,

holds hatred’s lies to be self-evident,

and, above all, keeps its founding wish alive,

that the soul of its people will not simply live,

but thrive.

February 14 2021

She told me all about her plans for social justice

last night before I read to her.

She's ambitious, One Percent;

be wary with your wealth: She'll gladly cap it.

I had to let her talk herself out before we could get to Harry,

and then finally she fell asleep.

Tomorrow, the world.

February 3 2021

The wind is cold off the ocean.

Now they're saying four to eight where we live.

I can still see features in the cloud, so not yet.

Flags of all causes snap to together.

He doesn't know and wouldn't care;

to him, it's all about the odors,

and all cats are grey in the snow

if they're fool enough to be out.

February 1 2021