Monday, February 8, 2016


Bear Jaw

Mornings at this window sipping
dawn black, coffee fogging
an image of the Blessed Virgin
bestowing grace, feathering
the first hard edge of the day,
blurring the dog out combing
the yard for clues, mornings

                palming our bear jaw,
           ages ago after all night
                    rain on Big Bay de Noc,

mornings reliving that day, 
your red boots, smashing mirrors
of standing water, still finding
your feet and the bear jaw,
an ivory stave working free
of old rail bed torte, mornings

           illuminated by a talisman
       from the sill, humming a memory
               working free of night. 

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