Seven in the morning of the first
of May already so bright in clear
blue air birds make their plans
immense. Time for our little
dog to darken the earth with her
mighty stream and then a few thimbles
of kibble. As I doze my way back
and glance at the car of the neighbor
I try to avoid
a wide disc of wood from some
unlucky loved tree on
the driver’s seat.
I guess everything I
thought about the spring is wrong.
late bare tree rain again counting the dog’s nipples
A kite stuck and shredded in a tree that has yet to come into leaf, if you catch my meaning.
ungrown me climbed this tree under new management
even with the light returning a greasy stain on the dial’s unreadable markings and the office out there licking its lips behind some tree the couple picnicking have no idea
a mourning dove cooing to the train in the pine tree
what to save what to send
sunshine through young leaves
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voices echo in the hall I turn down the TV
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the tree shaking his head no in the wind
the wind & rain a gamelan
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a tree broken by the wind I only have questions this morning
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bare trees in bright sun why is it so hard to be nice to myself
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one more I say and stare at the clouds
other animals 