I sit alone on my balcony, underneath this year’s Harvest Moon, which has risen in mid-September to a golden globe of soft light. A streetlamp in front of me competes with the moon’s glow. The sounds of the busy highway ricochet off the cluster of these apartment buildings and the concrete parking lot below.
Read MoreI accompany humming brook
with Mary Oliver
rattling around in my head
There are times
when the dead
speak louder than
the living
This day pulling
light through stone, gray
moss hanging from the oaks behind me.
He’s an old man now, but his loafers still impeccably polished, trousers creased just so. A fastidious man who pulls his legs up high like marching when he walks, refusing to shuffle. You would think he’s meeting friends for...
Read MoreI step inside her world of colored shapes
drop fancy words in silver ripples
watch amazed when her hand sets a sun,
rises a Montana moon
Smoke-lined clouds
yawn across the scene. Horses
never turn from their buckets
but register the chill.
Earth soon to harden inside winter,
starlight on blue snow.
I went to the water
thinking it would put out
the ire that consumes me
And while I write and hum
made-up (or stolen) tunes
a jay sidesteps on a wire
dance-yodels his complicated phrase
As the fine line between
sky and land disappears,
my little skiff dissolves
in the deepening darkness.
When Chris returned home from work in the afternoon, the stranger’s truck was gone, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky.
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