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counting feathers
mourning doves made
their nest above the porch again
stout-hearted they are
with their discreet
grey and heather feathers
eggs ready to hatch in summer heat
don’t touch it
I say to you, hesitating
not knowing if you already did
I’m leaving it this time
you say
a world is saved -
you know how (iii)
direct sunlight
coming in the window
& shining on
the computer screen
while you are writing
a poem is a message
from the muse?
me neither. -
The Second of July
The Second of July
I have reached the peak
that came quietly
like this half overcast sky
ending in a pastel sunset
pierced by lingering gulls
where margins have been breached
and suddenly the lack of rain
begins to take everything it once owned
with an orange vista
that is a long downslide to autumn -
Mentor
She molds us all with an imperceptible touch. Egoless,
her un-staged wit and grace elicit devoted following.
We’ll do anything for it—her smile, or laugh, of approval.
