Divining for Starters (44)
on the prairie, flat land stretching to the horizon
hence the weight of sky
a tractor supply store, baseball caps with cornseed logos
after the planting, before shoots emerge
that potential, the greatest breadth of possibility
gazing hand over eyes at apparent emptiness
acre after acre of
Divining for Starters (45)
the threatening heat
the whiff of catastrophe
fake leather booths
electronic dance music
who will say it
who will rise and
in the poverty of a brightly lit
repeating sisters’ names
on this heavy
my nimble and tired
another bead on the rosary
Divining for Starters (35)
From January’s frozen plateau, the appearance of sun a deceit
There are words for music, but no score. Hence they accumulate like snowflakes, an indistinguishable mass.
As my late friend liked to say—
My masks need dusting: the Sumatran dancer looks ill, his blue cheeks paled by ash.
This is the first place I’ve lived where damp is used as a noun.
Beyond my window, light and more light. I will stay here to imagine it warm to the touch.
One more cup of tea, one more stalled cry—