Thursday, March 31, 2016

yet again


Don’t know much about history but yours
is braided with mine on the backside of a big
bay mare grazing one fine spring morning
our hearts full with each and every lazy switch
pasture lush and rumpled, a big old bed
mapped by laden bees.  Bottle flies eye us from
twitching flanks, tied up in a yellow ribbon. 

Monday, March 28, 2016

Easter Sunday

Easter, My Sixtieth Birthday, the Morning
After Tearing Down the Old Shed

Christ and I have this much in common.
We rose early; slowly, gingerly, but we rose.

Say cheese


Pictures taken
before you were born
carefully staged

suppertime and twilight
red brick

thin ribbon of grass
bathed in

magenta light
ivy of my shadow climbing  
the wall

forethought on his part
the outfits

blazer and bow tie
in this one

blue sailor suit
piped in red, white and gold
a yachtsman’s

cap in another
the full length three quarter pose
he favored

gazing out
past the camera at mothers

against a flaring sunset
spill of their twinning shadow spreading
in the foreground.