Catalogue

That it will all be here tomorrow
as it is today. 
That this knotted web will break
and the new strands lie across each other pliant,
receptive to the air.
That this one and that one 
will grow with grace and beauty.
That the world will not fail my feet.
That these rocks will retain their identity
and ask nothing of me but to be.
That this street is not a result
or act of futility.
That mist is only mist
and rain is only rain
and from a spare significance
sweet joy will rise again.
With this and many others,
like a growing tree built leaf on leaf,
that fail in the aging days
but give their bodies to new copies
when the days renew,
I will catalogue this desperate belief.

September 29 2012

Poem by Gail Peterson Stewart

This poem is by my mother, Gail Peterson Stewart. It's a personal favorite.

Ave Maria

You have the gift
of hearing
snow
fall

silent questions
silent answers

somehow you catch and hold them out to me
one by one

look:
a light, a web, a wheel, a sun
all white
all true
and fallen they make my landscape new.

To Dream of Albino Tigers

To dream of albino tigers
must mean something.
Adopting one full-grown seems dangerous.
Imagine your apprehension when he wakes,
abandoning the couch, to prowl
nearer.
Will he ask you merely to stroke his head?
What more might he take?

September 14 2012

The Grapes

Ah
the grapes are falling
but the young dog
doesn't care.

Under
the darkening arbor eaves
he scents new prey
cold, in the shrinking days.

September 8 2012