left-over mysteries (2)

a medieval street and
a funerary chapel
in a cathedral deep in Poland

twice I returned
in wonderment

what deep well
of memory
connects us?

imaginary conversation after stopping at convenience stores, the length of California

Studying English?
Yes, I’m going to visit the States
Really? What part?
California
Oh, that won’t do you any good there...

Belinda encaustic notes

memorable colors, textures
filling in the squares of an orderly life
partially or completely, or with overflow
out to the edges of the painting,
honey running down the sides

(a few are filled in half-way
to a rupture
cascades of wax solidifying over
a bottom-heavy canvas)

(some thick and gloppy, slowly clotting)
(others, liquid, faster, shoot out the top like a geyser)

try to be consistent in your admirations
which muscles do you use to be true?

at Box Canyon

the dam in massive silence
among the interactive trees

*

happening upon
a statue in the wilderness
begin to pray
to the best in both worlds

at Eileen's

beautiful the room
the carvings intricate
costly the chandeliers
no matter. Once you sit
down with the others, there you are

eyes pulled outside to the trees,
the hills, hoping for a distant raft of clouds
to hurry on this way, bring wind

at Mary's

take off your shoes—
contact with the same ground
the teacher walks on

listen to no one’s poetry
who will not reveal their toes

she's getting old too

purpose-driven life?
not for this cat
asleep upside down among towhees and sparrows
pecking at seeds on the new seeded lawn

teamwork

her poor dishonored body
she tries to think, plead, order it into place...

(the brain, in its capsule
aspiring to become commander
of the whole darn rocket)

(the body, with its own will and intelligence
regards the brain as an add-on
latecomer, would-be usurper)

...which finally responds, expands
into the true position

it’s a long way through Nevada

simplify, simplify, says the landscape
mountains in their stony essence
blank valleys
repeat, repeat
driving through an endless
mid-day still life

:-)

she must have decided that
to have a clean house
cleaning is too high a price
to pay

importance of words

the cat stares, round-eyed
when I look up, she heads towards the door
now that’s just plain English

the dog projects his wish
directly to my hand
that last little piece of meat
won’t you lean it down to me?
it does

the black man did it! (another false accusation in the news)

If there’s any crime to be done, I’ll do it
That way it will be easy to tell who’s responsible

noisy news (from the neighborhood)

the mockingbird
and the jackhammer
in duet

police helicopter
clattering
in circles over the house

new neighbor
parenting
at the top of her lungs

Amtrak sultry-soft, two tone
reminds me
you can get out of here

words about Anne

her paintings are modest, hold back
reveal themselves slowly, over time
as your eyes adjust to their tranquil light

in folds and niches she concealed them:
silks of countries changed forever
bits of wheat fields
laces of streams and, I happen to know,
a mountain, entire

the fabric of her life is woven
into grass and soil
beneath the placid horses
lazing or grazing in the surface sun

and did you notice
the Sandhill cranes just arriving
or have they just left

progressing through the age brackets

the controls loosened
sounds began to escape her lips
she learned the strength of her emotions
surprised at her surprise

I stop for gardens

pausing before a house
a patrol car happens by
watching me
case the spinach

wind today

jerking the tethered wires

the orange plastic ribbon caught on the fence
waves like a hand

and beyond, rising and falling
great lungs of the eucalyptus

Weather reports

forks of lightning, withdrawn
darts of rain
a huge glory over the water
light shining out of a sun-cave

*

clouds with their bottoms intact, firm, dark
stepping stones to the mountain
where they fray with rain

*

grey day
the sun sets in a gold commotion in the west

adjustment

she tried for years
to straighten him out
nowadays she contents herself
ironing creases into his jeans

bird spit

wetted
by a single bird
high on the wires
with inordinate aim
she felt herself selected

delayed

oh boy
said the old man who had just stubbed his toe on a tree root
this is really going to hurt

90 degree turn

she stands outside the door
pulling on a cigarette
with that left-behind look--

society has moved on

news from the other world, visited nightly

what a night
kitten in the water
the wallet, the blood test, the game abandoned in the middle
an avatar of the children—
from those parts of them that lie unused--
and in the morning, like handles
the words

holding the pose

toppled
by a thought-quake

view from the hotel

swaying towards us
headlights in air
our windows part the stream

hoards of metal
arriving birds
reach for the ground with rubber claws

walking toward the darkness

at 75 she asked herself
while looking at her breasts
aren't you tired of having these?
*
cataract surgery? no thanks
my eyes fading to the details
as they should
*
after the old man died
his wife still gardened for years
"I'll just mess around a little longer
then I'm coming too"

acting as if--
aiming for the door right beside heaven...

inner smiles all day because of what a dream whispered

the beloved departed---
sometimes they’re still available to us in our dreams
for long rides down the interstate, for instance
in a bakery truck...
*
tired of her illness
she stepped into the glass-walled garden
plucked a leaf, and ate the healing herb
*
the children chorused
they wanted me to be their teacher, but
a big man sat down beside me
and muscled me out of my dream

testimony

the hesitant child gained fluency
by not correcting herself

(even the awkward are able to achieve
a level of competence over time)

after the break

Once the devil goes home
and God withdraws His face into the clouds
and you are left with yourself, alone,
whom do you trust?

Not yourself.
Hug tight the bottle, pills rattling as you walk

morning city

A fast morning walk
adds swing to the day

The people are mostly in their houses,
(their cars, their businesses, their schools)
Out here it’s just me and the birds
a few stray gardeners
or old walkers
we greet like friends

the end

rainy

I imagine the rain eating
clattering utensils against the eaves
forking at the slopes above roads

scaping off with a butterknife
a thin film from naked mountain tops
a few more pebbles spooned away
from the mountain's slow life

the back 40

cows, ducks, rabbits, hens
our edible friends
come running to meet us

war room--no damage

For birds it is a hands-off world
Whatever they’ve been discussing
with shrieks and cries, ramage
in the roomy juniper at the edge of the parking lot
the world will come to no harm from it

(birds use their hands to fly)
(in the hands-on air)

glimpsed on the way to somewhere important

the quail, jangling its little bell
runs into the manzanita bushes
rolled up like mossy boulders
against the leggy pines

by the stream

scrub jays arriving on startling blue wings
answer each other's questions with questions

choice

shall I peek out fearfully
from a corner of myself
or dare to be the force
behind my eyes?

alternate view

I see a small dark Jesus
slightly myopic
the load of love bending
his forehead down
shaggy beard, long black coat
briefcase, roomy, to accommodate
everything he owns

hurrying up to people in the bleachers
bending close,
whispering, "Remember--
the children--
they still know the way!"

when he leaves, much sighing before
the murmuring begins, "Yes, but
what He really meant
must have been
entirely something else..."