August nights are cold here

August nights here are cold… 

                                                   …

                                                                  2016

The tree

rotted and was blown by recent winds

across the trail and when climbing over

my fingers gripped deeply patched lichen, 

somewhat brusk, almost like sandpaper, 

but beginning to lift tiny green leaflets.

**

Joy comes of its own, on its own terms forms 

place and trace, regardless the circumstance,

can’t be made, can’t be replaced. 

Joy, I’ll settle, whenever.

**

There’s a sense we all have

of the movement of our own body

through the space we occupy; or, or

is it and, too, life’s sensing of us

through the space it holds 

through us.

**

After thoughts…

Last week, the whole family stayed

in three condos along a common walk.

We in the middle, upon waking would

open the door to cross ventilation,

never able to determine 

if the grand children followed

the breeze or it followed them.

**

Nature, by its nature,

cannot be captured in concept

or by any one body, 

nor can it be left outside

on its own.

**

Even detailed, color-coded diagrams

in my own hand

can’t help me find 

the backyard irrigation line

buried deep in tangled roots

and loam—clear signs of success

in all but staying in touch

with the source.

**

The letters back then

those years ago,

how they burned

and seared

with dreams longing

to be lived, how easily still 

the smolder 

fans to flame.

**

With each breath given,

wind reveals a small

but intimate piece

of its continuing 

purpose.

You’d think,

after so many years, 

I’d be able to tell where

it wants all these leaves 

I’ve been sweeping.

**

Thoughts on current events:

Ignorance is the arrogance of 

repeated insistence that you are

someone. The humble study listening

to the multitude surrounding voices 

that sustain, cautious with those 

who spew too many answers.

- - -

The lone discordant voice 

heard, the solitary gesture given

room—these are results true 

to the view that defies categories 

because no single thing, no one ever 

is left out. 

**

September 3

The sun is lost to approaching fogs

before seven-thirty; but by eight, 

the advance halts at the mass of ridge 

to the west, to shiver itself clear

for the quiet coming of night.

**

End note: you tell me…