Category: Seasons
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This foggy rain
Standing in this foggy rain, it is reasonable, no, expected, to mark a little obscure, so let me begin to explain why poetry would have no need to be written if we all stood here right now in this foggy rain, cold dampness seeping through, its heavy cedar and pine its drizzling down the world…
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Winter in Frenchtown
If you have visited only in the summer, the weight of snowfall on this strip between the big and little lakes must surprise you. Winter here makes summer seem impossible — children running down dunes with nothing but swimsuits, beach towels tied like a capes, tiny sails on the horizon, or closer, Sunfishes capsizing into…
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Day 30
April is perfect in all conceivable ways apart from the pining separation from November’s divine dark
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Day 25
even the sundial loses all track of time following the breeze swarm through our sea of fresh pine needles
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I 57
What is it about rows of corn stubs flipping past, electrical wires sagging in sync with the tracks, whistle beaming out to snow-flat fields, clumps of houses, trees so far away you think of desert, that pulls me back to dream-like chatter, long nights on empty roads? We meet again in this rhythmic void, away…
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Day 22
starry white droplets line tree branches, fragile, falling, constellations, signs, against March’s gray realm
Poems from in between 