Friday, July 27, 2012

Weekly Worded


Latchkey Cat

As we close the door --
heading for town and a fresh
cup of coffee -- the cat

sits on the window sill
watching us go.  We won’t be
gone long, but for the cat

time is like a neglected piece
of string on the floor,
no wiggle in it anymore.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Weekly Worded


Not a Cloud In the Sky

Where the hill rises
the corn rows bend
toward the horizon.

A visual trick
because the rows are straight
but still, they radiate

like the spokes of a wheel.
In another month
this field will be a wall

of corn stalks but for now
ten thousand green spikes
stipple the sunlight,

each furrow shining
with the snake oil
of an irrigated rain.


Friday, July 13, 2012

Weekly Worded


backward went I today 

different slightly everything
routines my
likenesses their unlike so
mirror invisible 
saw I thought 
-- no but
me was it 
out inside turned
copy carbon
urge misunderstood
exactly not
memory what
for calls
calls for 
what memory
not exactly 
misunderstood urge
carbon copy
turned inside out
it was me
but no --
thought I saw
invisible mirror
so unlike their likenesses
my routines
everything slightly different
today I went backward

Friday, July 6, 2012

Weekly Worded


Speaking of Home

A round nest 
beneath the Russian olive,
one syllable

of a thousand threads,
bits of fluff
spinning like the center

of a universe.
Stooping to touch it,
I thought to

pick it up, when a shadow
of wings
tussled the air,

so I left it,
knowing last night’s wind
had put it there,

but even so, I couldn’t help
glancing up
to ask forgiveness.