Tag Archives: Seasons

Picture It

A Blue Jay hops
In my autumn garden
From the fence

To the red wood chips
Don’t photograph me
He says among the green

I’m not in the lens
I’m the tail feathers I preen
You can’t capture

The summer song I sing
The way I hop
So the spots

Of colors blend
The  blue
And the white

Winters I’ve seen
And with each picture
I am forever

A machine thing
I am forever
Blue and white

Don’t photograph me
Remember me
Until the spring.

gold leaf, red fox

Knightsbridge: a baby is shrieking I think

it’s been left in a dumpster somewhere dumped

on soft/ bottom/ tin uneven things pillow its skull

the leaves come down in Fall and this street is where gold leaf must have been named.

speckled and fragmented pushed hard into the pavement they die hard. a red bus comes. a red bus always comes.

the leaves are metal dust and I love them.

the baby is not a baby but a fox, also red, sleepless on uneven gait, soft tail bottom.

Fences

Season’s have playoffs,
Summer battles fall.
Mid-July high scores

Shed like leaves, forgotten
As the river valley breeze
Gives way

To wild card runs
Of Indian summers’
Late bursts of color,

A hail Mary pass,
A bottom of the ninth
Sideways hat rally.

Nature,
At
The

Plate,
The
Swing,

This
One’s
Going

Back,
Back,
Back…