the longer he sings
the louder I dream
coyote
canyons disappearing
into canyons
coyote sky
the things I learned
and didn't tell anyone
lilacs in the alley
before I knew anything
about sex
tadpoles
nothing to do
and all day to do it
cricketsong
skyfull of delphiniums
tugging
at the ground
co y ot e
s t ep p ingt ai ld ee p
th r ou g hmu dd yw a t er
was the secret
she or I?
cactus flower
summer rain
not even the river
knows where we're going
when my dad taught me
about the bears
and the bees
the way all rivers
start
in heaven
the most beautiful girl
who turned into the sound
of passing cars
no wings
like
the present
baby sparrows
I remember
not to cuss
he said he was a flower
but he was just
a jack of all weeds
when I was a turtle
with my legs in the sky
your soft hands
momentarily occupying
the same airspace...
cat and grasshopper
blue-grey pigeons
blending into the pavement
then into the rain
ship of silence
in a sea of moonlight
steady as she goes
zazen
traffic and sirens
turn into sparrows
when I had nothing
for a rainy day
dandelion gold
pickup truck
your first orgasm
startles the crows
no next life
just this one
(no matter how it goes)
how long I waited
for you to stop barking
and close your eyes
so I could touch your nose
through the fence
upside down squirrel
hanging sideways
off a tree
asks me if I'm going to
answer myself too
afternoon bluejay
singing
his ass off
one-word texts
from my wife
two big wings
on too little a tree
crow doesn't
wait around to see
if I'll stop laughing
I ask a tree
if he remembers when
I was twelve years old
(and he shows me
the scar)
campfire
in the middle of nowhere
a coyote and I
switch off
every other song
the stick I throw
that Loneliness
always finds
and drops at my feet
so I can throw it again
canyon road
I spot two coyote pups
where we parked
and rolled around
in the stars
rooftop patio
the bartender makes me
a thunderstorm
canyon sunlight
I find a broken bottle
half full of stars
tall grass and sagebrush
the butterfly-shaped spot
on the wild pinto
glowing in the sun
in a field of dark green --
ultraviolets
when the whole world was angry
except you
sleeping moth
when I believed
whatever
the bluejay said...
always the littlest one
showing off the most...
shooting star
underneath the maple tree
where it rains
after it rains
storm in the foothills
a wild horse kicks up his heels
and spooks the thunder
the night I dreamed you
in flashes of light
and woke to thunder
morning church bells
shaking off
the crows
wrinkles on my hands
I blink
and the coffee is done
the morning
I made love to you
so quickly
and drank my tea
so slowly
twilight thunderheads
way over my head
a hummingbird
and his wingman
rushing home
carneceria
a Mexican man and I
bump into each other
and we say we're sorry
in different languages
white flying things
sometimes moths
sometimes butterflies
depending
on how happy I am
how my father
could fix almost anything
my mother's blank stare
from the window
of the nursing home
your hips
pushing to the stars
I hold myself back
watching a katydid
crawling through the moonlight
the one sparrow
who just didn't care
singing in the rain
back alley window
the sound of God
squeezing cats
in between flights
the drug dog
who just wants to play
this is the poem
that chased my feet
then hid in a dark place
and slept all day
until life was but a dream...
the earring
I kissed that fell off
(how long we looked
in the dandelions
behind the garage)
midnight thunder
through the bedroom window
I stop inside you
for a few seconds
just to listen
afternoon thunderstorm
when I thought
you loved me
but you just
loved the rain
the way she said
"love"
like it was a candy heart
she spit out
and left on the ground
the time I sat under the tree
and told you
about my day after
you told me about yours --
squirrel
ten years old
wasting time at the frog pond
how the sun only made sense
when I saw it
through dragonfly wings
August wind
I listen to the leaves
speak of future colors
the scent of ozone
way before
I see it
sparrows shoot like darts
in all directions
shining star
I unwish all the things
I wished for
and take the fall
myself
how rich I am
these hairs on my head
made of silver
and these aspen leaves
made of gold
spilled bowl of cereal
marshmallow moons
and stars
all over the floor
glistening in the moonlight
an everything
so big
it could have been
anything
it wanted
eight years old
the crows and I take turns
ploughing the corn field
on my grandfather's
rusted tractor
that unbelievably
foolish thing you said
when I was just about
to let my heart
do foolish things
the rain and I
take the long way home...
arroyo
where the cardinal sang
all summer long...
red maple leaves
after the cicadas stop
the sun buzzing
in the weeds
early morning rain
the dreams
pour out of me
cricket
big as a june bug...
thundersong
cardinal
hiding
in a cherry tree
top of the mountain
where the pine trees
polish the stars
sunrise storm
the last rumbles of night
forgives and forgets
last bit of sunlight
sets the mountain on fire
aspen trees
the first time
she said I love you
while looking away
the way she loved me
and the color
turquoise
whatever it is
that makes the spider stop
makes me stop too
a feather from the tail
of a thought
about you
the first time meeting
my great-grandfather
who stared at planes
the same exact way
I stared at him
I walk
into the desert
until the cars stop
and I can hear
the coyotes breathing
tied to the bike rack
a guy tells me
not to pet his dog
(I wait until
he goes inside)
she kisses me goodbye
and tells me go
do not wait for me
one more second...
Lady Time
I notice
the last dandelion
behind the house
the next morning it
and summer are gone...
the last dandelion seeds of summer
I go my way
you go yours
almost autumn
she lets her red dress fall
and closes her eyes
to wait for the rain...
maple tree
two hawks
fade into one hawk
fades into
an endless blue sky
trailing feathered clouds
the rocks
on the mountain
the rushes by the river
we never wrote down
their names
a sky full of rain
borrows the mountains
for a week
and brings them back
covered in wildflowers
the kids
ask what we’re doing
I say nothing
so we can do nothing
one more time
the lines in pencil
my mother drew
on the doorjam
where I got taller
and time got shorter
all the holes she filled
with tiny yellow flowers
rushes stick out of the sand
like ferret whiskers
next to the river
how slowly I walk
through the house
the ghosts of ferrets
always in-between
my feet
when I was the color red
and hovered in the flowers
waiting for twilight
so I could become
the last seconds of sun