Each Hour Unfolding Is

Each hour unfolding is--
And I can close a gate against
The course of other things--
Its own green timepiece,
Planted to perfect the past
In mystery, enclosing
Grass, those roses, these
Easily illuded eyes.
Each hour, however
Cannily planned,
Includes surprise.

Back Porch Poem

Where pen angles
Over its shadow, 
Webby yellow light
Thrown down in
Autumn enfolds an
Old man in his
Back porch chair.
But yes, it is I,
I who sit there --
Me-- alert to piscine
Thoughts that must
Be caught and 
Returned to the sea.

A Young Man Photographing His Father

A dream mirrored in 
A mirror dreamt
Trains itself, flowers open.
Dark unmeasured
Mind extends its tendril
Into time and night
Turns into day.
Am I smaller or 
Farther away or more
Or all three in a garden we
Dreamed a future for?

Instant Unceasing

 

Where your shadow falls
Across wildflowers
Is an altar
Apart from time,
Age, art, pleasures,
Pain, sadness, hours.
Meaning keeps
Amid its measures.
Peace survives.
We must assume
It is alive. 

Mar Vista

Where sunset spun light
And vapor into gold and wind
Unrolled what came before,
Something else --something more--
Goes under it, in to supper
And bed with that miracle
In its head, its brain
Dreaming in night.
What remains is
Finally just the light.

Della's Pump

His old mother's well quit
Quite in the dark.
Condenser, relay,
Romex rusted under weeds.
Here we chose our places
And our deeds--
Useful under stars, black trees,
Probing earth for logic
On our knees.

Her Garden

Nothing imagined could
Dismiss the rightness
Of this: you plan,
Plant, improvise,
Provide and I'd feel
No less near if
I fell from another star,
Here, to be astonished
By what you are.