these feet
(said the crow)
were made to fly
I ride your heart
long climb up
toboggan ride down
go
again?
broken rosary
I pick up
all my prayers
under my tongue
you are my
happy pill
crow tracks
in the center
of new snow
appear
then disappear
the graceful spirits
of bone and feathers
who never think about ending
sometimes
sparrows fly out of my poems
and I have to chase them down
and put them
into another poem
the morning
already outside
playing with the birds
I watch
later that afternoon become
earlier that night
crow
turns on
the streetlight
a mistake
the day made
contrails crossing out the sky
sparrows
no reason not to sing
on gravestones
no reason for me
not to listen
I blow out the candle
so the night
can find me
not
the fragile green of spring
but the deeper green
of pine trees
waiting for snow
I keep throwing
the night outside
cat
keeps dragging it
back in
first frost
all the stars
the night left on my lawn
outside
I hear december
clearing his throat
the wind
a thousand cats
on my roof
dead weeds
and grasshoppers
my backyard is brown
and sometimes
flies away
pancake sun
behind maple trees
fork in the road
dirt in my shoes
the earth
walks with me
poet cares for his words
feeds and waters them
they sleep next to him
curled up
and dreaming
today
I will walk the Himalayas
and it will only
take me
five lines
today
I decide
I will keep
all those wishes
I thought were mistakes
just enough
starlight
to see
what you
are thinking
I said it
in three words
you said it
with your eyes
closed..
I trade sparrows
birdseed
for company
and leftover
songs
the trail
to the woods
where I used to play
permanently cut
through my mind
no fingerprints
on the stars
though
I’ve touched them
just the same
I woke up
this morning
and my thoughts
had feathers
and sat on power lines
the dark morning
keeps me company
as I walk
scent of firewood
keeps me warm
I could not
find the words
so silence
found them
for me
I sit on the porch
and listen to red leaves
tell me stories
of when
they were green
black cat wind
tail
lashing at my face
as it hisses
in the trees
morning after halloween
two crows
re-carving the smiles
of pumpkins
on the porch
if I were a ghost
I would stand
inside you
ghosts of old dogs
sleeping
at the foot of my bed
a year of sunsets
covering the ground
beneath the maple tree
crescent moon
half my heart
in the sky
all crickets sleeping
I hum
the rest of the song
house
on a busy street
black cat
parked on the stoop
motor running
two leaves
jealous wind
one leaf
on the branch
he sings me a story
and leaves me a feather
so I will remember
how it ends
early morning
the whispered conversations
of fallen leaves
never the color
I’m supposed to be
said the stone
sparkling
in the water
I imagine a moon
in a sky I have never been
and wonder
if forever
knows I’m coming
so thin
this thing
that holds us to the tree
I kick a stone
I walked past
a thousand times
tomorrow
I will put it in my pocket
long dead cholla
holds a bird
in its hands
the desert
doesn’t know how to die
I watch the rain
drip from the roof
and for a few minutes
I forget
it will stop
crows gliding
on the edge
of the mesa..
I watch the night
coming
I throw
my troubles
into a pile of leaves
I leave
the weeds
knowing
what little time
we both have left
flag
shouting
at the wind
skeleton of a crow
on the ground
still flying
in the wind
one feather twitching
coming up
over the horizon..
another chance
I write
in words
but the sun
writes poetry
in light
tiny noses
in the belly
of the plane
never make it home
9.11
open window
breeze turns the curtains
into silent windchimes
daydreaming
your eyes
into stars
warm stone
I carry the sun
in my hand
I tell
a dogwood
sit
stay
it doesn’t move
the outline
of you
eventually becomes
the outline
of me
and for
my next trick
I will
become
myself
when I die
I will power off
without
backing up
anything
after the rain
the smell of sage
all of my memories
hidden
in the desert
my love of roses
is not in the bloom
but in the green points
that protect her
until she does
third day
on the windowsill
without moving
moth has found the light
another way
if you insist
on being a star
I must insist
that you shine
in my sky
I
was born
wireless
on plastic
I tap a wish
in tiny letters
to a silicon star
and hit send
blurred outline
against the sky
hummingbird
races twilight
home
I find
a feather
a piece of the sky
I can hold
in my hand
if you think
my poems are words
watch them
crawling
on your screen