The river is diesel soot dream
it fills the cracks and crannies
erases fingerprints, makes you
a non-person to the counting
of electronic time clocks.
Tag Archives: spring
Days 2025: Spring Equinox
we must trust in the knowing of daffodils
and in the songs of returning birds perched
in trees along the wharf, singing regardless
of the grumblings of tired old men, regardless
of urban noise and the rumbling interstate traffic
we must trust in the slightest hint of non-arctic air
underneath the chill, the half-scent of spring in the rain
the need to remind ourselves
the sump pit needs draining and the dogs
tracking in mud from the back fence
where they go to bark at the neighbor’s adult son
hiding and playing with axes, imagining
that the end of the world
will be his time to shine like an equinox sun.
on another day after another spring storm
Last night my wife woke me dreaming the neighborhood was on fire.
As usual, I was sleeping through every real and imagined apocalypse,
half-listening to the rain on the window. My ears
still listen for leaks, even asleep and dreaming
of the western mountains I know hold my death.
We slept in today because we could:
this unofficial start of summer.
In the afternoon she planted the garden
while I examined damages trees, tried pruning back
the honeysuckle reaching over the backporch
and onto roof. (It squeaks in the wind,
this house whines and weeps too much already. )
Early in the evening I daydream of brown water.
There is fire waiting for me. These bones are glowing embers
waiting for air to breathe like someone holding their breath
beneath an indeterminate flood.