The Gloom

The Dune 

The dune moves with tides,

becomes higher then fuller,

     then loses its front

during gales when waves

     pour into it,

     and through to its rear,

the sea washing back and forth

     through the marsh.

As things calm,     the wind

ruffles tall grasses, pelicans.

Beach 

With breeze like a   Siren's breath,

          a swell curls in   and foams

     the sand. Tiny holes   spring

          up like bubbles   popping.

From the vacant   lifeguard tower

          watch shells   and sea glass

          and crabs   scurrying back

     to the dune.   Egrets glower.

Offshore

Offshore, mostly kelp,

     seaweed forests,

tall against greenish

blue depths, brine washed,

     faraway folded,

          diminished phrases,

curling words twinning

          too many zany

     grains of sand flown

in wind, in such chains,

          wings flapping,

     joined as scrolls.

Feels 

Feels like snowfall,

     cool, dry,

until the air sparkles

diamonds drifting.

Spirit Frost

The stars alight

     the moon,

          burnished,

and the trees shining,

     show off

          spirit frost,

a ghostly ice

     that can hide

headstones and marble

          crosses.

Yellow Bulbs

Near camellia covered

hills and workers 

with empty baskets

at their sides,

after grating yellow bulbs

of ginger into green tea,

loosely robed monks

sip from small cups.

Saffron colors blur

as all crouch beside the river

where flies dip

amid fish-nosed

ringlets.

Neighbor Down the Hill Burns 

Cuttings, dead branches, leaves,

and twigs burn while a charcoal

colored dog barks and runs back

and forth across his backyard.

The neighbor's dog, a funny

mutt with short legs and bushy

fur around its jowls and throat,

barks at what seems to be

another dog running in the woods,

but this new dog disappears then

reappears, making itself small

then large, shifting colors

and shape as though by craft.

Yet in the open, it premiers

as a coyote with scruffy tail,

pointy muzzle, and taut thorax.

Then it's gone in a puff of smoke.

Locksmith

     Speck of dust

contains a vast sea 

     of particles

though it floats on a draft

     from the window.

     The locksmith parks

his van across the street,

goes to the eye doctor

     as the dentist's wife

peers from her doorway.

Pu'erh tea tastes funky

          after it cools,

leaves a line near the rim,

     and vibrates when

set down. Monadnock

          empty of snow

holds back the gray clouds

     coursing its back

          like dark smoke,

others like white bursts.

Gloves

Local company

shapes latex

for St Elizabeth:

Swans dock,

unload gloves,

wing their way

     into roots,

shift to snakefish,

sack workers.

Feathered arms

fly along shore.

Feathers

Feathers

would tickle

your throat

like swallowing

scripture—

not unfamiliar.

Yearning

Divining, like a vivid

     day's dream

of untying an ants' nest 

     quelled by rain,

released to distance,

     floats, returns

cows, back to the barn,

sheep to their fold,

     chickens to roost,

pig to pigpen, or doves 

     to dovecote,

as true birth coupled 

     with blood

startles, as yearning

for a child's crib, crypt.

Stained

 

Dollhouse with stained

          glass entry,

new wooden windows,

fiberglass garage door,

     siding petrified

          to blond patina,

new mantel,

          vinyl guttering,

               and rafters

that swing

          back and forth,

               handsomely

     like a pendulum?

The Gloom 

See a glade at the edge

of the playing field:

     a passage there

into the green mist

through the tall grass

where baseballs a letterer

hit may be lost, sight lost,

smells gone, taste gone:

     gloom hides detail:

knife, lightning, lava.

Wind 

No chimes on the green 

     mountain as this wind 

          wafts amid the glens. 

Now hear the only sound:

     rustling leaves belong 

to mountain and to wind. 

Seasons rotate as affairs 

wheel: wait for New Year,

then burn your prayers. 

Clean Hands 

When the sun sets 

on your green mountain, 

the sky seems white, 

          windy, 

     then a darker blue, 

no flies nor mosquitoes.

Have you seen this tiny 

bird at dusk behind your 

          flower shop? 

What can this, yellow, 

orange, grey pipsqueak 

eat if night's insects 

     don't fly, too? 

     You have clean hands, 

          but no birdseed.

Hermit

A hermit hidden

halfway underground

sits at his window

     and watches

for junco, titmouse,

wrens, sparrows,

     goldfinch.

Thrush 

Plosive,

     yet constant,

not glottal,

not scattered,

     wispy, 

like feathers, 

     bones?

Reynard 

More golden

than red,

fuzzed tail,

ears tufted, too,

nose proud,

paws sprinkled

beige and black,

slight whiff

of Scotch pine,

then scat

—neither here

nor here?