January and February

that long dark January ride

watching through the window grime 

wishing light in the early night

then bag check and security line

and on to February’s gate

layover here with flight delays

out of joint these still dim days

a month of time again to wait

Summer Light and Winter Wine

it’s light in the house in summer

laundry breeze-blown on the lines

the light of winter low and cold

a snow hill’s harsh incline

the word summer is a lantern

a vegetable on the vine

winter’s word is hanging dead

but the sweeter grapes for wine

Out of Winter Dark

grass shivers in the wind

of winter’s departing breath

lilacs fume rippling 

leaf shine haloes of light

out of darkest darkness 

the trumpeting throats 

of geese still in flight

these dreams spring

Drinking In The Solstice

in this last low light of the waning year

deep blue shadows westward leaning solely

craven and cold they cling to edges

recline beneath trees astride cars below ledges

stretching toward the long night to join them wholly

wrap a shawl around your shoulders dear

and let’s trip the year’s last light

we’ll blithely sip the shadows here

drinking much too long into the night

until at last refreshed with darkness gone

we turn our longing to the waxing dawn

Winter's Arrow

formed of ice and ancient bone

benumbing missile of winter’s letting

propelled with no taut bowstring strummed

no archer with boots firm in frost

follows that point piercing through autumn

swallowed by darkening skies and lost

in snow’s soft silent forgetting

It Is A Miracle To Walk A Mile

it is a miracle to walk a mile

    along a leaf littered country lane

slow with no destination dire

    only to breathe with senses free

while the high green field giving way to gold 

    sways in the crisp cold kinetic air

and with no need to hide there

    as though some bully in pursuit

        from your home now mute desolate

        combed the dew gleaming countryside

        to grasp and drag you screaming back

November Calling

steam floating from the soup pot

mellow morning light

gleams within the window glass

glows soft upon the kitchen floor

still warm mid-autumn air bears

a dry leafy earthen spice

when it whispers i oblige

open the door

The Autumn Question

the autumn sun was gleaming

on the red and rusting leaves

but someone took the wonder from my eyes

autumn blew a cooling breeze

while the sun was warm and sweet

but my skin was numb to all qualities of air

world weary wandering frail and worn

once sparkling senses now used and dull

Shakespeare’s prince echoes the only question

Tumbling Into September

tumbling into September

watching the low sun behind

butterflies lighting on the new sunflower

brown areole of such late hour

haloed in that golden crown

and i in awe 

so close to a goodbye letter

dear summer

put my pen back down

Seasons

mourn for the sacred days

long for the light

mourn the deepening

darkness of night

long for the greening

mourn for the hearth

long for light leaning

on grasses’ warmth

mourn for cool shadow

long for the change

mourn the lost length

of day on the range

long for the firelight

mourn for the yield

long for the isolate

snow-covered field

Going

the grain bowl going upside down

across the field the placid beast

protects the forest door

through which the light goes gray and cold

the other side’s guardian snarls and frets

until the snowy heath’s high yellow grass

reveals the night heron’s red eye

it tilts its head the way away

from a tree full of crows

toward what i have sought all along

A Night Walk In Spring

there is nothing like a night walk

in early spring with blossom laden

branches shedding petals over

sidewalks children scrawled with chalk

filling the life-recycled air 

with million-year-old scents 

intermingled with the chemical clean

exhaust smell issuing from laundry vents

the streetlights sputter alive their cones

of light and mothers call their kids in to eat

and bathe and rest their play-weary bones

Knocking May

a beautiful stranger to my door

hawking wares i try to ignore

when May comes knocking

ostentatious smile too bright

that jejune steals sun from blooming April

to presume to compete with June light

no matter how gold and dappled

how sweet the berries peaches apples

or day’s scents of buds bursting into flowers

into warm nights of somber hours

trying to prove you’re not an unseasonable stray

pure aesthetic sensual hollow May

Photon On Vegetable Porn

at the sucking mouth of spring

high sun’s hands warm caress and pet

arousing teasing out spring trees’

billowing green ejaculate

Call For The Return of Spring

time when the warm and fragrant breezes blow

and melt from the mount to the river flows

even golden crowned daffodils bow down

and kissing flowers burst forth from the ground

it’s then i long to hear your voice once more

when do you come back from the farther shore

spears are put down 

and spades cut only ground 

platters are full 

and all cups overflow

it’s then i long to hear your song once more

when you fly back here from the farther shore

Triumph Of The Sun

even as the night extends its grasp 

sol stretches golden fingers on the land

winter bares icicle teeth 

obscures with steaming breath

but against the face of daylight cannot stand