from the park

the snow came over
the course of the evening.
we got more'n half a foot.

the sun's out in the afternoon.
kids off school get their fill in the snow.
they'll sleep well tonight.

i sit in the park to look.
squirrels fight over a hole in a tree.
a jilted lover croons at the hole
and keeps getting run off.

it's cold out.
not as bad as recent days.
snow warms the heart
and the streets seem less treacherous.
treetrunks are highlighted in white.

kids ride the swingset
and leap to soft snow.

a coyote i wouldn't kill

a coyote in the news

a coyote
caught out on patchy ice
in the Rockaways
is on the news.

helicopters & cameras
monitor his progress
as rescue crews prepare
til finally the crumbling ice maze
is too much

& he swims to shore.

how that's news i don't know.
they show footage of him ashore
rolling in the snow
to dry off.

cold

the snow's stayed for days.
i wish it wasnt winter.

ideas swell in my craw
& make it hard to swallow.

i walk through cold, negotiating ice.
at least i have the home of my shoes.

it's hard to sit
without being cold or restless.

ice in the park makes it difficult
to get anywhere i want to go.

a couple plays a broken game
of tennis on the thin cleared path.

they are bundled & in sweats.
when on hits the ball

the other can never seem to hit it back.
they are very bad.  
                    it is so cold.

it's just as cold on the sidesteps
of the Jefferson Library
across from Patchin Place.
somewhere i go to think.

the cold is like a cop
who wont let you loiter
and shoos you to your feet.

time to go.  on to the next cup of coffee.
the traffic has no effect on the cold.

why i am a nomad

why i am
a nomad:


in a world where i grew up
the only place i have
a room of my own.
where comfort is as simple
as a glass of water
and a hole has to be chopped in the ice 
for the cattle when it's cold.

beyond the presence of family and its sacred farm
past trees, water, light and dark
     access to memory and near silence
     friends i've retained in this town
     a roomful of books, dust and childhood trophies

i dont fit comfortable.
there's some thing lacking.
a lost pocket in the possibility of comfort.

i occupy myself with goings-on.
events offer limited distraction.

i see things
             i want to hand to other people

so they'll get the picture told.

an unexpected sheet of ice

 


the factors of location and cold
contribute to the thin sheet of ice
that covers the entire surface of the pond.
it's still up.  it covers low spots
that are normally soggy but passable.

there are tracks out on the ice
something crossed without falling through.
my feet could not stay on top.
i dont think this boat would do
to play icebreaker.
its prow is not sharp enough
to crack the frozen surface.

the stream makes its cold but fluid way
under cedars and over stones down the channel.

i hear a sound and turn to see
a lizard twist around the leaves
and slowly search a stone to sun.

i had no idea such an animal 
would be active in this cold
surely he's more vulnerable at this speed
but little else is out to look for lizards.

downstream the little waterfall
is trimmed by ice to the sides
where water splashes more than runs.

ice has encased leaves, tree roots and the stems of plants
not to mention the rocks that hold it all up.
the main course is free to the movement of water
the sound subdues its surroundings and water falls.

three days and i'll be gone
back east on a slow train
and i'll be unable to hear the water
or fight my desire to walk on ice
or sit here and watch the ice to see if it moves.

three days and i'll be gone
back home. back to love.
back to what's been missing
all this time.

i've seen some things i've never seen before.
what glaciers do to rocks, what an iceage does to water.
this is only winter.  & barely that.
we get more sunlight every day.

in the woods i sit on a rock, feet on soft moss.

there are two roads to the pond.
one is short and quick and only slightly precarious.
the other is the back way, the old way to get here.
overgrown with brush
a few places the road crosses a sharp ditch
where rocks are piled for a bridge
the truck cant pass.

close to the pond the road has been covered
by a carpet of moss i'd feel guilty driving on.
the moss has taken a liking
to a road grown cold.

the sun is blocked from shining here
hours before it sets.
the hills that feed the pond allow a window
from midmorning til midafternoon
when the sun rakes the valley, pond and hillsides
with fresh light.
not long enough to dispell the ice of winter
not long enough to overheat a body in the summer
(when the window grows)

no storm today.  the sky's an icy blue.

honey locust

found honey locust in the britannica
found honey locust over on the hill

i wasnt looking for either

honey locust is a thorn tree
driving in its general vicinity
is a sure bet to get a flat

he is a long cat with black fur and white feet

he is a long cat with black fur and white feet


he is socks or is it boots?
i think of him as 'the cat'.

there are other cats around.
none so eloquent.

i saw the cat out the window,
topped off my coffee & went out to find him.
i meowed and listened
for his response.

he'd gone off past the listing outhouse
& was stalking through the branches
of an uprooted tree.
we tossed meows back and forth
& met up by the outhouse.
i petted him and we talked.

i walked toward the lawn table and chairs
to have a seat so this time might meet more than one end.

he sits at my feet again, cleaning himself.
my brother tells me this cat is shunned by the others.