A Slap in the Face

Two feet of snow

and cold

after meteorological spring

alluringly

warmed the dark garden

stirred the striped chipmunks

sun-tinted the goldfinches

browned the rabbits' winter coats

leaving the hawk

huddled on a pine branch

and doves numbed

below the feeder

It's in the Air

The air has been stirred

and shaken:

in tepid, chilled, sun-spun confusion.

Leaves stagger from their branch tips,

dance,

and skitter across the lawn.

Sprinting uphill, turkeys slant

through a mushroom metropolis

built in a day beneath the trees.

The restless fowl nestle into

their evergreen roosts

and bark the hours

to one another

from the dark of this

wind-warmed night.

misplaced

with my camera

i caught you

camouflaged wonder

when you erred and docked

on deep red oak leaves



unexpectedly observed

your antennae and kneecaps blushed

your ovoid eyes reddened

your ridged back sunburned slightly

to match your flushed toes



i caught you

wondering at my camera

should you dodge or freeze

framed for one shot

and, unabashed, two

First Deer

cautiously peering, grazing,

freezing, unsure spring's

finery will linger long

a.m.

6:09

peering into the dark

I am confident

that the sun will rise

as predicted

the

shadowy

               shapes

                   of

               trees

         writhe

            in

         the

              wind

the cloud banks pink luminous even before

6:09

but when the night

had no wizards

to make comforting

pronouncements

how

long

the

dark

before

6:09

twilight

slowly the mourning dove strolls

gleaner of early-birds' seed showers



spring whispers the sun to sleep

beneath the soft cover of clouds

Starless

How slowly the clouded

night passes without the

march of constellations

to mark the time.

Great Blue Heron

Master of Stealth among the reeds,

Fish Snatcher, Frog Catcher,

neck looped tight to spring,

yet

frightened to flight

you labor to gulp air under your wings,

struggling to glide overhead while

trailing those comic-book,

stick-drawn legs.

Walls

Softened by lichen and moss

moistened by morning dew

deep into the dark earth

the stones creep.



Snaking along the margins

of skeleton grey farms

the stones rise again

resurrected by heaving frosts.

Cardinals

How can you leave

yet?

You must hunger

still!

The slightest shadow

fear

instills in you.

Both

fly to brush,

blink.

One more bite?

No;

flown to pines.

transient footsteps

the waves wash

                    over
and under

          the waves wash

                                                                       
red stone worn

smooth and wet

                   thin
layers ancient

lifting away floating

                         away dinosaur track

now bottom once top

till ages filled

                   steps
with silt

will my print

                          fill
erode reveal

                     smooth
and red

            wet
sandstone worn

                                                                          
the waves washing

                      under
and over

                                                                                
the waves wash

              over
and under

the waves wash