Poems
11 posts
Hear now the anadrome song of the salmon sung in voiceless bubble chorus loud from source sweet to bitter sea
Somewhere in the Arizona desert, I pull the white whale to a crunching stop on a patch of roadside dirt, on the crest of a small hill, north of Paulden Arizona. “What are we doing out here?” “Is something wrong?” “Hey! What’s going on?” “Stars,” I say. "We have stopped to see the stars.”
once We clambered down from the trees and stood upright, peering over the horizon with eyes like ripening apples,
A small bird, gray shot with blue, alights on a pine branch. She lands, looks left then right, spies a small beetle which she pecks up. Behind her, an alder leaf, blown on the wind, circles once, twice, thrice and sails into her field of view; startled, she cries out then flies away. […]
Point Lobos is corridors of granite, Tumble back spurs Echoes of ancient coast, water worn and water drowned Granite spines, marked by tree root and tourist feet . . .