oo 000 oo (poems from old notebooks, summer 1997)

The moon, slightly past full, looks
squeezed at the top as if
                                        someone—
some god, some child (same difference) had
reached for it in a moment
                                        of desire
(perhaps for an over-ripe kiwi) and had it squirt
between thumb and palm into
the night sky.
The stars? Well, they splattered there.

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Pareidolia

Today the city blocks the north wind,
Leaves the harbour nearly calm
And keeps the small boats slack-sailed.

Slow clouds hang low in the sky, turn
The surface gray and streaked—a chalkboard
Gulls drag themselves across all day

In shrill, recursive scrawls that seem
Almost legible. But there’s no more
Meaning on the water than on the wall.

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​Happy Happy Joy Joy

Us? Just
trees in the wind,
memories of our dead
torn plastic bags snagged on
branches.

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To Cristin, Whom the Cancer Took

I suppose corn still grows in Iowa,
tall and green as August looms.

And I suppose cottonwoods still form
a haze along the banks of shallow creeks.

I still see you beside Island rivers
on summer mornings. A mist rises.

And when the setting sun and the full moon
balance across the earth I hear you laugh.

Though I often think of you in the night
I feel guilt that you never walk in my dreams.

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July Lindens

Late July, and now
The lindens are in blossom—-
The heat of the day
Pours down through them, drenching us
In this pungent arousal

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The Full Moon and I

The full moon and I
Ignored each other for months
Beside the harbour
Last night we rose together
And stared one another down

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Fisher Folk

Each July I watch
Blue heron in the shallows
Intent on fishing
Like my brother—tall, thin, still—
But he always brings me trout

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