There is no limit

This sheer immaculate day

Boundless in beauty

 sweet seeping nectar

gleaned and brewed by constant bees

to ageless honey

 a glaucous-winged storm

swept inland from the ocean

and the land was cleansed

this we can concede

 the past is arguable

but future is not

 the first frail flowers

specks of spring in the desert

delicately white

in dawn's first light

the stars appear to tremble

in awe of the day

 Gila Woodpecker

Smartly dressed in a striped suit

And jaunty red cap

 How high is your sky?

Mine begins at my boot soles

And goes forever

 a cool winter rain

ocotillos give green thanks

crimson-tipped and glad

 a single blade of grass

one of countless in the field

joins soil and the sky

 When the way has changed

When adversity presents

Where would water flow?

Consigned to the flow 

In the cold current of night

Dreams stir in eddies

 beautiful tension

the drop just before it falls

increasing - then plop!

 beyond what we see

perpetual and certain

new waves are forming

 unpretentiousness

all praise to the common folk

and their humble kind

 each day at twilight

calls for assembly go out

quail roost in the tree

what resides within

abides richly chromatic

beneath time's varnish

 She speaks so little

labored words come haltingly

but o when she sings!

  how i wept for it

the giant suffocated

skinned and dismembered

 through an old window

the imperfect glass distorts

to see but not know

 amid this vastness

with all connected creatures

each has its own world

in a gentle rain

the day remits and lingers

whist simplicity

ably protean 

flowing - frozen - vaporized

water will concede

On seeing a flock

 sixty house finches

more or less - what use to count

feed on winter's seeds

delicate hoarfrost 

melts with noon's apricity 

rain forms on bare limbs

the winds will foretell

when the violence is nigh

trees will bend in fear

 The light that we see

Born of primordial stars

Already expired

 Umwelt

each creature its own

vision - smell - hearing and touch

as much as it needs

 With each of my steps

The perpetual passage

Am I near or far

 A dusty attic

Where the old things are consigned

Bygone yet still dear

in this we're common

whenever and anywhere

 we all come from blooms

  pure light of a star

spans across space for eons

impeded by earth

 Don't count them as lost

Those things you don't remember

They remember you

 a covey of quail

do they chuckle about me

as they scoot away

 a hero's pursuit

across vast and foreign lands

in search of his lot

 the three-legged dog

knows nothing of our pity

as she wags her tail

 equanimous cat

crouches in the tall dry grass

the mouse had no chance

the rewarding part

whatever i've learned and lost 

i am still in school

 we the incautious

see what we've done to the sky

that hangs so heavy

consider what lies 

at the center of your map

you or somewhere else

 hunting raspberries

where the sun and rain are right

swelling until sweet

 Morning in the woods

Barren - quiet - hibernal

A gray fox leaves tracks

 2023

Pleading eyes of the outcast

Where will they find grace?

 a post in the sand

to mark the surge of the storm

a gull lands and calls

 In our history

When were we last satisfied

When - humankind - when

like an earthen bowl

 our emptiness has purpose

ready for life's stew

penetrant and thick 

cold uncompromising waves

sea eats at the cliff

here is the matter

how could one with thoughts so brave

be so meek in life

Join this holiday

Circle your table with cheer

Together - Wassail!

 I will depart here

To follow the river up

Toward its wellspring

 the good health of rain

sends blessings in multitudes

each drop a comfort

 could we be as birds

commending ourselves to dawn

with flutters and song

 The winter solstice

Effects the year's longest night

And largest shadows

 a fissure in rock

where water seeps and freezes

cleaving it apart

 something from nowhere

bold and unpredictable

sure uncertainty

 unrelenting will

water will make smooth the stone

waves will form and fall

 

My true self resides

Somewhere beyond ideas

Ineffable me

 Framed by auburn curls

Eyes green as summer's new grass

Smile full and joyful

 today all seems new 

i will live this day gently

and aspire no more

 I believe in rain

These grey and hardscrabble banks

Will flower again

 lichen is patient

nourished only by the air

quietly brilliant

 belied by their size

hummingbirds are swift and fierce

the garden's swordsmen

spirits in trenchcoats

skulking in shadowed alleys

steal into my sleep

Born green and tender

Supple - grateful for the sun

A sprout of wonder

 to follow the way

accept beauty wherever

the light and the dark

 of all constancy

the fall of waves on the shore

gives comfort to doubt

I smashed my finger

It was dreadful - then I saw

A forested lake

 

 so pure is this sky

could i climb its laddered clouds

stars would be too near

 Hoary Spanish moss

Still sodden from the night's fog

Like an old man's beard

 O generations!

The bloom is mother to seeds

That bourgeon henceforth

This crux of my life

 I was not born for myself

But for something more

 The rain came last night

I will go to the desert

Where soil awakens

 When you have the choice

Of luxury or comfort

Choose the simpler way

A spiraling shell 

Intoned of faraway seas

Ready and ceaseless

 Even for the least

No thanks are misbegotten

To give enriches

 Do not heed the doubts

Head straight into the welter

There is peace beyond

The dry grain of grass 

Has no anticipation

The birds stop to feed

 Water won't resist

It finds the lowest places

To rest and to wait

 The way is entire

Unintended and nameless

Unwanting and clear

 To hold and not own

To do more with less effort

To give without care

Tendered in good cheer

 Through frosty light of autumn

The warm hand of thanks

 To loaf at one's ease

To know that much of what's done

Might be better spared

When you walk alone 

Expect nothing of the gods

Find peace with yourself

wonder of  the seeds

dry and light - they surrender

revenant in spring

There are small secrets 

What the birds know of the dawn

And satisfaction

 Modest and constant

I’m proud that they are my friends

With them I am safe

 Winter is quiet

So many have left - or sleep

Even trees are hushed

November morning 

A thin mist up the meadow

As if it exhaled

 all that i have said

has the weight of softest down

easily aloft

 To know the person

To apprehend their nature

Play a game with them

 Pavement turns to dirt

Then narrows to a footpath

That finds a still pond

Crouched without shelter

The night has an icy heart

Dawn will be coldest

 When persecuted

Become the prosecutors

Intolerance reigns 

 an owl on the snag

outspread eyes search for a kill

silently - it swoops

 There's much to be found

In the spaces between words

We hear with our hearts

 Alms of the desert

Songs of bandit coyotes

Circumspect quail

 Of gods - tears - and dreams

Who would try to account them

There are too many

i can almost feel

 (a moonless november sky)

the spin of the stars

 Pale - withered - brittle

Sapped by a searing summer

The desert bides time

 What’s the need for time

When we have the sun and spin

Seasons understand

My dear handsome child

You have no words for your woe

Cry but do not weep

 

What I know - and feel

Life is not same as living

Nor death as dying

 My mind is empty

We all love differently

But my heart is full

 Vampires - bats - leeches!

Enough to cause you nightmares

How sanguiverous!

 A naked canvas

Line and light - color and space

Source of the design

 Sun-worn and weary

To be known with such pity

They wait for a meal

 

The gifts of aspen

As alluring on the ground

As they were aloft

fruit - seeds - cones and leaves 

summer sheds its rich bounty

compost for the spring

 a gentle commerce

september bids to august

summer paid in fall

from the north to south

we are all americans

sing across frontiers

 I will walk beside

Do not doubt the way we take

We are always home

Colors of the song

Dances of celebration

Skirts in whorls of joy

When the acorns fall

Squirrels are fast to take them

The oaks wax golden

 Three elegant deer

It is too warm to move south

They stop - prance away

Those which make no sense

Love - dreams - the sure source of tears 

Seem perfect to me

 While we were sleeping

The sky was filled with migrants

Bound for balmy climes

 Nothing fills my sail

Like a gust of poetry

Prosody in flight!

with the summer spent

 autumn is a renewal

of harvest and rut

 

Sisyphus Saved

A spider in the sink

Too steep - too slick - it slides back

I took it outside

unutterable

 the canyon invites no words

or comparison

 Now the crescent sun

Carved to a thin slice of light

By a pallid moon

 the ecliptic wheel

turns at the will of the stars

bearing night from day

 With such urgency

The celerity of the squirrels

Foretells winter’s hand

 Lambent maple tree

Made stunning by autumn’s chill

Ready to send its rain

 I prefer quiet

Except wind - water - and birds 

And music of course

 

Summer's profusion

Clings faithfully to cold limbs

Flames in autumn sun

 O to be a duck!

I can already waddle

But to fly and plunge!

 If you would find me

Search in the garden's rich soil

Amid roots and worms

 As I sleep - I dig

Bones of shrouded days exhumed

Fossils of my life

The day's single star

The multitudes of  the night

All spread superbly

No matter the dreams

Mornings ought to be grateful

To be rewakened

freedom is a cloud

in a perpetual sky

sheer and shape-shifted

 In spite of ourselves

We are the spring and autumn

Swelling and yielding

 

Something knocked at dusk

He held the door and his breath

A cold waft of fate

 Rejoice garbage trucks!

That hoist our wretched excess

To make room for more

i wake to a dream 

the dark fragrance of her hair

encompasses me

 Morning comes later

I have passed my exquinox

Night grows knowingly

 i am october

laden with summer's rewards

my leaves burning bright

Dry as a gray leaf

He doesn't want to get up

It's getting colder

Sitting together

The last leaf fell on their bench

Sunday turned to snow

Before I was young

When I did not know of age

No past to forget

 The vain scythe of faith

Clears a path through reason's field

Leaving chaff behind

 It is mostly tail

A fox darts across the road

Jumps into the night

 That which matters best

Freely come by as the air

No price is enough

 

Nature's dimensions

Abroad its measurelss span

And smallest wonder

 Spring is a fair child

Splashing in April’s puddles

All wet and merry

 The fruits of summer

Fall and begin to ferment

Here's to autumn's wine!

 

Dark and patrician

Gaurdians of Red Mountain

Cloaked in cold stone

 Stung by an insect

A door slammed on my finger

Elsewise a good day

 See how they scurry

Abert squirrels are gratified

A feast of fresh cones!

 She whispered something

That caused me to close my eyes

And thank my fortune

 In the wheel of time

There must be revolutions

For there to be change

 Surrounded by storm

Slate sky - hills covered in hail

We were high and dry

October's plenty

The pinion jay remembers

Where it stored the seeds

Beyond what we say

You and I are miracles

Of unposed questions

As far as I know

 Freedom is not what I thought

It's when I don't think

Stopped in the shadows

Motionless - it stares at me

Its white tail twitches

 This fathomless blue

A vault vast and unblemished 

But for one crow

Of apprehension 

How do you know what you know

Apart from belief

 

The bloom's work complete

Gauzy thistle-down takes flight

As summer exhales

 Days fresh as flowers

That wake to bees in morning

Awash with nectar

My experience 

I've learned more than I was taught

Known more than I thought

 Follow the brown signs

They point to pleasing  places 

Otherwise passed by

 All that I’ve given

Is inconsiderable

Compared to my thanks

 My face is a map

Drawn with the slow quill of age

Can you follow it?

The dawn’s first gray light

Coaxes birds from their perches

And bids them to sing

Do not wait for when 

What is solid will dissolve

If can turn to was

Their faces painted

Songs of rain - drums of thunder

Dancing for the corn

Only hearts can know 

How improbable is love

Nor will years construe

 All adversity

Is considered a witch hunt

Now they've caught the witch!

 Brigantine of light!

An eastward cloud in full sail

Bound for lands away

 

In the sum of joy

However the multitudes

It takes just one seed

 Made for each other

The bloom and the butterfly

Summer's fine effect

 A flash of azure

The jay darts from limb to limb

Sips from the bird bath

 To live without why

To simply accept what is

Wisdom or waiver?

 Aphoristic dogs

With small vocabularies

But much truth to tell

 The growing shadows

Cast by autumn's nether sun

Longer than trees tall

 My dear spotless babe

I hold your head in my hand

Slumber without dreams

 Singularity

Was this infinitely small

Or is it so now?

 

The pygmy nuthatch

Hunts for ants in the pine tree

Chirps - I found some here!

 A few small issues

Cords - dogs that bark in the night

Crumbs in the butter

 He scattered his story

Its pages strewn at the shore

Claimed by rising tides

 The sunflowers bow

Under their beauty's own weight

And worship sunlight

 Hark the swollen sky!

Stacked with great mountains of rain

Mother of the storm

 A mother turkey

Her chicks too new for flight

Broods them under wing

 I have lent myself

To one miraculous book

The story undone

 Where crows roost for night

There is a song about that

Trees know the lyrics

El Cumpleanos de mi Amigo

A friend's truest words

Never written or spoken

Are told with his eyes

 Some folks get soaked

While others dance in the storm

Between the raindrops

 Like a sloop at dusk

With  its sails dropped on deck

He drifts un-anchored

 Fear can always wait

A panther that stalks the night

Rapt - swift - merciless

 Scrambling up a hill

I would like to have four legs

Just until the top

 Communion requires

A congregation of trees

And runnel's scripture

 High Sierra air

I can feel it in my blood

Fresh sweet and bracing

 At the sky's first call

I will open a window

To welcome the storm

 After dry July

The thunder said it was time

To anoint the earth

To hinder the hawk?

Starlings form a living cloud

A murmuration

 How distant the moon

From the tide that it allures

So too her lover

 The dark seas of sleep

Without a port or compass

No bearings matter

 Lighting the daylight

In a violent instant

Accounted by thunder

 

                                                                                  

Would that I might have

The patience of a spider

Suspended in trust

 Weather is our mood

But our personality

Must be the climate

 Like seasons of years

The moon depends on the sun

And hope on the young

 He's a musty work

Wedged between Poe and Whitman

Well-read and dog-eared

They won't disappoint

To show their disappointment

Perfection's sure price

 Slow - insidious

Mold inches up the damp wall

Quietly toxic

 When young and aweless

She moved with a daring grace

Dancing like a flame

 Sensibility

Reason is passion's servant

Love knows no measure

 Some light through the woods

I think it is a meadow

Where lupine finds sun

 What we hear of birds

Their calls warnings and frolics

Are sung not for us

 When my new time comes

Plant my ashes in the woods

With wildflower seeds

 The bird steals a web 

(The spider left to wonder)

To bind its new nest

Still damp from the night

 Her heart - like the palest rose

Is easily bruised

 The Museum Club

Trees hold up the roof

No drinking on the dance floor

 The walls tell of songs

 What distance have I?

To a country beyond the tides

Or just over there

 Where aspens quiver

Where the wind flows most freely 

This is my country

 A quesadilla

The secret begins and ends

With good tortillas

Prodigious blossom

The true purpose of yellow

Open and outward

Emily and Virginia

Their elegant worlds

Inherently unhindered

By canon or prose

The vagrant lingered

A vagabond in the night

With stories to sell

A stygian wind

Grief took everything green

His gray heart laid bare

 As the leaves of beech

The days will replace themselves

New on old branches

Friendship of virtue

Love for one you do not need

Complete in its own

Is there liberty

In a world without countries

And no immigrants

 My true gratitude

To need less than what I have

And have some to share

 Does a poem sing

When it is not read or said

Does it rhyme alone

Hot sodden delta

Cotton tall - air thick with sweat

Blues 'til tomorrow

A furious chase

The pursuit of proud desire

Will exhaust the soul

Circumspect horned toad

Now suddenly petrified

Waits for me to pass

 The hot winds of June

Devour the remains of spring

When will monsoons come?

 On my hands and knees

The dark soil under my nails

An earthworm disturbed 

 I love to wander

To avoid destination

A flaneur at heart

 Spend a day alone

[though it might not be written]

You'll find a poem

 This unfallen fruit

The ripened promise of youth

Seeded with new hope

 Where wild iris grows

Where no boot has ever trod

There a perfect peace

 We are meant to dance

Children know this simple mirth

 To twirl without care

 Envy knows no depth

A stone in a floorless sea

Sinking - unsated 

 The hawk and the owl

The blue of day and night's eclipse

Exchange the same sky

Spring gives a long sigh

Can summer be far away

With its high-hung sun

 When you cannot fly

I will bring food back to you

Your hunger will starve

Predator's sequence

To search - stalk - chase - grab - and kill

Then to digest life

 Embark at high tide

Trim your sail to a new draught

Horizons beckon

The bumblebee dives

This pool of scents and colors

Brims with spring spirits

 When you build a fence

That separates yours from theirs

What's kept in or out?

 Shadows sweep the trail

Specters carried on the wind

A murder of crows

 A moth lives with us

Clinging to the bedroom wall

For what does it wait?

 We're all in bubbles

Some quite smaller than others

What if they all burst?

 The pinion has bloomed

Fresh sprouts tipped with tender cones

Augur of new seeds

Are we palimpsest

O'erwritten by a new hand

Wan and hardly known

Mourning is love's cousin

Who will pay respects in course 

Through death or sunder