Whenever we would go back home,
I tried to act my very best:
Say “sir” and “ma’am” and all that stuff,
So all of them would be impressed

At what an x-year-old I was.
They’d say, “That’s nice. Go play outside.”
Thus I learned my inconsequence:
To them, ‘twas just their patience that

I’d tried

Snapshot: In Truman Park

Love, I watched you leave last noon:
A silence over Truman Park —
Yet all the dignities were kept,
In almost-reverence

Yes, love, I watched you leave out there;
A passer-by who happ’d to see
A type of wrenching, grasping grief —
A silent severance —

But is there only ever this?
The long hello, the short goodbye —
But is there only ever this?
The too-late, and the why —

Oh,love, I watched you leave last noon:
A drifter-through, a silent ghost,
Who felt the touch of empty hopes
From those who learned to love


On Apple River

Ancestral voices
Painted with their songs
This land. Those tunes,
That none alive have heard,
Can still be seen, and also felt
Upon the memories that autumn
Carries with it as a right.
There once were clearer eyes
That saw without distraction
What this place, this land
Consists of: earth, sky, water
In embrace. We call them ignorant
Who knew things we do not know anymore,
Because we think that we know better, or
Our straight mistaking symbols for their things,
Like thinking maps or GPS
Can better than our eyes explain the land.
Do not despise all those
Who came before, for they could not know us,
But we have no excuse
Not knowing

Image credit : ID 78969406 © Ken Wolter |

autumn elegy

breathing in autumn,

setting free the callow heart

like leaves from a tree.

=== ===

cold waters flow

until rigid with winter –

this is not our way.

=== ===

the lonesome one knows:

where you are doesn’t tell you

who you will yet be.

=== ===

some birds stay longer,

though their flocks left long ago,

and i understand.

=== ===

earth and water speak;

the wind sings, stoking our fire –

this, our element

the Cold

Nothing about me
Can help you “fix” you,
Save possibly

The striking manner in which
I model my brokenness
For many and sundry to see,

Providing you leave to think that
Having sharp edges or accretions
Doesn’t make you defective,

It just means you lived through the cold,
And it has left its characteristic