Bells

It isn't the time the bell is calling
but Mass. From where we walk
each peal of each 
sounds much the same,
though where Mass's rings 
sing close upon each other,
time's more measured, more methodic.
But bells are bells, only different in intent.
Time's chimes can be counted;
each hearing walker must decide
if both bells can be counted on.

October 15 2013

I Couldn't Quite Hear the Question It Was Asking Me

Peggotty Beach Walk

He is plunging along like a tug in high seas
at the end of a snapping line
while the garnet breakers toss treasure on the shore.
The wind is beating the season back toward winter
when the beach will be ours once more.

October 12 2013

Life Cycle of a Band

The band breaks in
the band breaks through
the band breaks out.
The band plays around
the band breaks down
the band goes under
the band breaks up.
The band is over.

October 12 2013

They Gave Me a Horse, and a One Hour Head Start

Road Number 2

Rhyme with God

God is in the wind, is in the dell.
God is in the winding of a shell.
Speaking in the silence,
sounding in a bell;
God's in every place that I can tell.

October 8 2013

Boardwalk, Egypt Beach

Road Number 1

His Scenting

His scenting correlates with wind
in which the ghosts of fox and cat
come visiting,
down the sidewalk he
is vacuuming.
There's no arguing with a nose;
all you get
is sweat.

September 1 2013

Baseball Memory

Wakefield in the zone
turns and catches Varitek's
throw behind his back.

August 30 2013

So Let the Little Light

So let the little light go out;
we are not afraid.
Bring darkness to the sills of belovéd eyes;
we will still be glad.
Ending is no curb to joy
when in us she is free,
a harbored spirit safe and glowing,
casting exuberant beams upon the walls
of our poor souls to show
the vanity of sadness.

July 29 2013

So Often When We Leave

So often when we leave we are no longer ourselves
and the people who remember us cannot.
All the things that ravage, overlay
and we become a gray
a dwindled voice
uncertain legs
a medication.

There's no fairness to the fact
that when we lose,
the lively face
the laugh
the springing gaiety
are bled away.
Photographs are paltry proxies for all that.

This is when I turn to dreams;
it is there I know
that as I try to understand
how I will return from Denmark
with all the extra bottles,
at any moment you may visit me
smiling,
and clearly I will see your face
and hear again your voice.

July 26 2013

ghost

A Hill at Night

Everyone sits alone on a hill at night
at least one time.
People come to different realizations
but the fractured ways 
lead all of us without exception to 
a separate place, the same for each,
and in it we're bereft of grace,
powerless on a midnight slope
to do otherwise than stay,
unable to climb or to descend,
brooding above a well-lit house 
where lately we were home.

July 20 2013

Mowing

So odd to be always
living in their past,
knowing as I mow
that if a memory persists
of this, it will be
nothing I expect
or can bestow.

July 16 2013

"we were not told how many of you to expect"

Walk on a Snowy Day

By my older daughter.

Trees are all about me,
their sharp needles covered with snow.
Little white flakes come down
and collide with my tongue.
The frost nips at my pink nose and cheeks
as the icy wind blows across me.
My black jacket now sprinkled with white
reminds me of my delight,
of my wonderful walk in the woods.

Toss Two Gulls

I saw the sky toss two gulls
over my head before the dog came loping in.
Then there was a pause
long enough to do the dishes and the ironing
but the TV had to go off
and the AC just in case
when they started tearing the cover off the sky.

She cried, something that startled me,
and you cradled her,
and even the older one read wide-eyed
while I smiled and retold the story
about a noisy coffee grinder and an infant
hiding her head between my feet. 

I think it was the ripping sound that scared us most; 
the thought that lightning that loud might rend us, 
might tear our home asunder. 
When the storm had walked slowly, muttering, out to sea
we went upstairs, complaining about the heat
and listening to the rain, to watch some more TV together.
And the dog lay on his bed, wondering
and forgetting.

June 27 2013

Missing Bella

Nothing emptier
than a lawn without the dog
that used to lie there.

June 11 2013

Hurricane Season

The trees were trying to run away.
Above the neighbor's rooftop they bent
but couldn't flee. They were workmanlike,
bent on leafing, not expecting this early onslaught,
and the way they washed the evening
with their rushing protest proved it.
From where I sat on the cooling deck
it seemed that hurricane season was obsessively literal
and though the wind brought blessed change,
I wondered with a wary eye whether hurrying branches
might break away and cut my season short;
no need for that new propane now
or to worry about wasps starting troublesome homes
in the grill, or the worn umbrella.

June 3 2013

That Red

That red can't be a rose;
not yet. I know
pretender rhododendrons
are just spring
practicing for summer.

May 28 2013

Leash handling

Dog, the rangy creature,
pulls hard,
heedless of my hold upon the leash.
A good owner would never permit such liberties with the lead,
but that's what you get with a hound: a driven thing.
Is there a lesson here,
or is it just an id
imperfectly tethered to a fretful conscience?
Drop it for today; let him scent.
Be on your way to coffee.

May 17 2013

Backyard Catch

It is a thing among things
to be able to play
in the backyard catch
with my children.

May 11 2013

I Have Been To the Falling

I have been to the falling asleep
when it was truly like a falling
and I have received it much more rarely
like a blessing.
I have been to the waking up
when it was like dragging a chain from the ocean floor
and I have felt it much less often
spring from me like a singing bird.
You never know what you'll find behind those doors
tigers, princesses, or the old routine.
I never dream about coffee
and never when awake have I scratched behind the ears
of a large black bear
but in some respects the two states are the same.
I dream about and ride in elevators
and make phone calls
with uncooperative buttons that signal to me
a certain helplessness;
sometimes hitting fast forward
seems like a good way to go.
But the seed pearl is there
caught between the curb and the tired slush
if you look down at just the right instant
and I seem to remember
or was it a dream
last night waking
to the sound of rain.

May 9 2013