Monday, October 19, 2015

I am not threatened by
young hawthorns;
I will take their gentle stab wounds
or walk around.
It is the very force of life
that seeks to pierce my skin,
the first shrub in this clearing,
leading taller trees in.
Coyote tunnels under fences
do not make me feel defensive.
Not farmers only,
we are stewards of this land
where once the creatures flourished.
I have a field that beavers flood.
And so I go and break their dams,
undo their architecture,
well researched mudded spans
that created wetland farther
where I thought to field the land.
I return to open,
they return to heal the deed.
This battle there are some days
I would willingly concede.
While yet this steward lives
there will be hawthorns and coyotes.
(The beavers are negotiating
against bills I have to pay.)
There may yet be concession
 and wet lands where now lies hay.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Reading books

Sometimes you read a glorious sentence
That lands like a heavy thing
In slow motion with a cloud of dust
As it hits the floor of your mind.
An exceeding heavy thing
That you relish the thought of having discovered
And you walk around it enjoying the magnificent
Every corner of it.
Then you underline it
And turn the page
A richer woman.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Indoor Tree

Outdoor tree, but not like other trees
Indoor tree
You lose leaves
I open for you
The blind
Light coming
No forest floor
You stand in
I stand in
Loose leaves