11.19.2016
the finest skim of ice
covers the pond,
the glare of late
afternoon sun
blinding off the
sheen thinner
than thin.
we count seventeen
muskrat houses
on the way around,
now unhidden by
the straw grass
fronds that have
been culled into
their construction.
their winter neighborhood
has settled in
for the long
winter’s nap.
——————–
11.16.2016
the dog and I
take different walks
together
one staring downward
in thought, other times
head up noticing
a leaf blowing, birch
tree across the pond,
light in the bottom
half of a third window
to the left, a squirrel.
the other nose down
panting, snuffling
pausing to pull back
and nuzzle deeply
into the delicious
levels of a pile
able to discern
great moment from
each disparate nuance
of scent
and then lift a leg and
pee in solemn
response.
One of us is doing this
better
than the other.
————————–
10.20.2016
moon shine morning
spotlights the street
on my way to
the newspaper
magical shadows
hint, suggest,
evoke,
the spirits of trees.
we listen closely
for pre-dawn
murmurings
from a world
holding its breath.
————————
11.9.2016
blinding numb paroxysms
of disbelief, slow motion
car wreck still to happen
coming, coming down
a road all too obvious
and we chose it.
rage, loss of control
visit these things
upon us, fantasies
of payback, blind
nesses to impact
in the real world
ha sataan laughs
at the destruction
incipient, pulsing
our own hollow
anger to strip us
even more bare.
anguish.
who will save us
from this impulse
of despair.
come Lord Jesus
do not leave us in
these hard mercies
of our making.
——————————
11.10.2016
There was a child named
Bernadette, Leonard told
us of her long ago
She saw the queen of
heaven once
while Susanne took her
the way to go
Your priesthood raised
from in your soul
distant longings
long foretold
They sang to us
of Hallel Jah
to whose bosom
you now go.
Peace my brother
peace like a
river’s flow,
prayers of softness
for your soul.
————————
10.23.2016
tunnels of trees
gold, flame, fading
browns fill us as
we drive.
my heart slows
back to times
when we piled
then crunched
ourselves into the
musky crisp
that held them and
wrapped around us.
we’d laugh and leap
and feel them in our
faces until they
tickled our noses
and then carefully,
carefully, we’d pile
them into hugeness
that our fathers
would touch off with
a match and laugh
with us, our mutual
faces shining
as the pyre streaked
to the sky and it was
the best of
fall times.
—————————
10.30.2016
the cathedral still
calls opens
to prayer
in the midst
of secular days.
holy spaces holy
places speak
of the more
that feeds.
—————— (Holy Name, Chicago)
11.1.2016
no one named
the saints today
but they were
here
and made
my day.
————–
10.30.2016
waters slide down
sloped moss-grown
falls where the
mill grew until
the market turned
and the village
folded into itself.
books are the churnings now
that feed
hungry souls who
come by for
a view and a
half caf in the
pub room.
scholar intensive minds
who grab the window
seat overlooks
gaze deeply only
into their laptops.
Emily Dickinson would
not have understood.
——————-
10.22.2016
I fall more
often now
on a stair
across a pup
into a plastic pile
and down a slope
my friend fell
over his puppies’
feet as they
scrambled with
the Sunday paper
and cup of coffee
in his hand
his wife found
him at the foot
of the stairs
when she came
from church
and we gathered
to bring our care.
I stumble more
now, more often,
and I pray more
too.
—————————
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