I hope when I am old I can
sit in a comfortable chair
asleep with my nose in the air
and insist I’m awake deadpan
Four Lines
it’s morning and the wind blows
west upriver dimpling the water
just enough to become a prism
scattering sunlight through green leaves
Four Lines
I watched the wings of a great blue
heron scoop two half moons of air
spindly legs and extra-large feet
trailing
Four Lines
does anyone else remember
lilacs on warm spring afternoons
filled with the scent of purple blooms
and the sweet sip of their nectar
Four Lines
I swear the river breathes deep just
before it rolls over the dam
for I can see its exhaled breath
lingering in the air
Four Lines
sometimes we can read history
in the land such as how a row
of sycamores mark the outline
for an old corduroy road
Four Lines
May’s new leaves on short tethered stems
don’t blow in canopied rows like
their summertime selves but flicker
and quake in the cold breezy light
Four Lines
I wish I were standing wind blown
shoes in one hand toes buried deep
lost in that distance of cool blue
sky and soft grey sea
Four Lines
have you noticed how the lowest
notes drawn from a cello always
soothe a worried soul just the same
as ocean waves against a shore
Four Lines
my Lab Mackie hates the meter
reader each month that vile scheming
electric checker trespasses
wearing postal blue
the crafty sisters 