Pebbles on My Desk

Stones that pile, one on another,
and do not move. All their weight potential,
they sit contained,
content in their long lives to wait
for gravity's directive.

Listen to their silence.

April 23 2009

How Careless is the Rain?

How careless is the rain?
Consider the number of perfect circles it expends
on puddles in locations
where no one's eyes will see.
See them with your other eyes;
watch them
quietly,
ceaselessly
expanding.

Give thanks to the reckless rain.

April 26 2009

There is Another Language

There is another language
than the ones we speak. In fact,
it speaks us. We think
we are pronouncing on the world
in should and must and shall and want and wish,
and things we say and do hold sway,
when in fact--and only in the rarest circumstance
do we poor parts of speech glimpse this--
there is another, subtle speaker whose sentences
comprise us
and tell the true, surprising story of our lives.

What word are you in the language of the world?

April 21 2009

Cat's Cradle

And if there were no other time than this,
when strings of disappointing days give way
to nothing but fatigue,
and all our hands' slow rearrangements yield alone
a tiny share of rest in this our cradle,
still
I would follow these half-forgotten steps with you,
all my days
pinching, pulling taut, and trading,
giving, each to the other in return,
this endless, silken pattern of our lives.

April 15 2009

The Ground is Rough Where She Goes

The ground is rough where she goes,
but she goes lightly.
Indeed, it is impossible to see her proceeding
other than at a skip. Surely she is a firefly whose light
enchants me. Each blink shows what looping run
of fancy she's essayed,
and at each dark I wonder in what unexpected place
I'll see her spark again.
Climb the summer night, my own;
never will there be a jar for you.

April 3 2009