yet again

Grazing  

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. 

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

Portraiture

Pictures taken

before you were born

carefully staged

between

suppertime and twilight

red brick

backdrop

thin ribbon of grass

bathed in

magenta light

ivy of my shadow climbing  

the wall

required

forethought on his part

the outfits

alone

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

silhouette  

against a flaring sunset

spill of their twinning shadow spreading

in the foreground.