I.
Two crows shared the same treetop…
Nope—
it didn’t last.
II.
Don’t they know there’s a war on?
Stupid cows
in their stupid, green, spring pasture.
III.
You need to slow
the fuck down. Only then
will this poem seem long enough.
Frogs
remain invisible,
even at midday.
How
do frogs
remain invisible? Even
at
midday, how
do frogs remain?
Invisible,
even at
midday–how do,
Frogs?
I.
– bent stick in the path, ridging
the dust
where the sun
has been beating down
ten thousand hours
since last it rained
if you were a snake
I’d know
what to do
with you
tip my hat
wish you good hunting.
II.
First a red
tailed hawk
juking from
treetrunk
to tall grass
under the dark canopy
and next I, emerging, see
coyotes
flashing against the sky.
I don’t understand this world
anymore.
All right so it was a bit of a trick
But really they thought it no harm done
To secretly scatter crackers on the lawn
Then send the baby out to frolic
Thus they taught their girl
From her nascency
She was the mistress of birds
And she grew up into the utmost complacency
Knowing they’d come at her beck
And adore her
And be harmless and not peck
And would sing for her
And no one ever thought What will become
Of her when she grows up and leaves home
When she fares into the world all alone
And her pockets mysteriously unfilled with crumbs
Would she hate the birds that kept absent
Or blame them
When the fields and branches of the trees stayed vacant
When she failed to tame them
To what would she ascribe
The usual empty sky
The poor dear the answer remains unclear
But anyhow what can be done about it now
By night nurse lamplight and stay close
By day keep your feet to the path
The tigers here are hungry ghosts
And all our hunters gone to grass
One day this
will be recalled (if
at all) by you
as a golden
day a beach of pure
sand and flocks of
majestic white birds that
spreading curved wings
rose at first
imperceptibly then
inexorably into
aching flight as
we watched them knowing
all would be well and
no one will be left to say
that’s
inaccurate
since my present vision of
this will perish
lacking the heft and
polish of history but
for the record here
is what breaks my present heart this
little girl now running across
low tide’s litter now daring
those greasy waves now
scattering the dirty gulls that are
yammering and (I can
see it all
now) about to
take off
clumsily into an
implacable
future.
She thinks of love
The way a courser thinks of speed:
As a gift from above,
A destiny, a need.
O spider, dear spider, why did I ever shrink from you in fright?
I am sorry now I did, for now I know it was not right.
O spider, dear spider, please watch and keep me safe tonight
Only do not come too close, please; only mind you do not bite.
Bag of Anything 