hemlock branch loaded with snow
you block the path
under your shadow I reach for you
shake shake
uncovered you spring up, weightless
I wait for flakes to settle
my glove, shoulders a scatter of white
now the path is unburdened
I carry no burden
the path can’t be freed
I search for the path not there
fox, bobcat, crow
trees fallen, rocks bare
parliament, dogma
regime by regime we founder
toss our bones to fish
scavengers webbed with micro bits
our heroes who sparred for fame
stand naked & maimed
uniformed in urban air
fingerprint smear, pigeon slick
it’s time to end male pranks
agora, politic, campaign
wrecker ball swing, smelter melt
let vixen & witch remain
opening night — live music
drugs at the table, skin on stage —
he hails a cab, names a hotel
New York City is not my turf
I’ve no idea where I am
the room so dark, so gray, so grim
smell of others before me & yes
urine, mold, stale dust
a metal bed low to the floor
he sits me down & looms
I’ll come back in the morning
I’m alone — street noise, bands
of yellow light, I close my eyes
why did he leave?
what’s he doing now?
outside the door men's voices
walk back & forth, by morning
who’s to say I won’t be dead?
little marsh man
pruning & sodding
the marsh commons
planting flower gardens
to better his view
he’s adorning
earth, he’s making
what he believes is beauty
or calls beauty
while you, my friend
rage —
I’m not willing
to say that only nature
can triumph
it's the nature of the view
of the viewer
what he wants
vs what you want
likely his position
in the community
outrivals yours
else your complaints
would hold water
instead
like the marsh
things ebb & flow
parch & flood
he’s common
the little marsh man
soon enough
he will die
as will you & I
while the marsh
water & wild grass
creatures of water & air
& mud
will remain
the lake spreads out like the space
left by a missing year
gleam between winter trees, steel blue
white plastic moorings
cold water, diving ducks, shoreline
curbs the view of more water
below the trail earth plunges, rock
& trees barely hanging
slippy footing on glacier-carved rock
tree roots used to bruises
ahead of us the whole way the dog
noses another trail
a past we can’t perceive
alive to her as if it’s now
she’s old, she closes her eyes
at other dogs
white trunks, brown foliage
green fir, blue sky
the shimmering image propels a leaf
loose flowing white-armed Hera
leading the thunder-hurling
ankle-winged, lyre-strumming crew
the trim flotilla streams by me
watching-from-the-lee-shore
long-past-the-time-of-Greek-gods
mortal that I am — each god
I mean ship, I mean leaf
weaves through tapestry
warped in water drawn by sun
once a song of Homer
Incompletion makes someone
want to fill your blanks in.
— Kathleen Rooney
inhabiting Weldon Kees
years turn ulcer
to scar, scar to fold
lost in wrinkles
I climb cold cliffs
mouth open
to wind hail snow
swallow any kind
of weather
I follow the road
enter the woods
let wild beasts come
fail at speaking
a feral tongue
I cross water
barreling
rock after rock
gravity’s darling
take me, fill me
I’m here to be gone
