I swim in his beard diving deep my breath giving out quickly in spite of all I know to do, all that he has taught me, my Merlin, he has schooled me in the things of the pot—the dragon’s blood and the mistletoe and the black willow—he has...
Why did it fascinate me so much, that ditch my father had dug in the front lawn to fix a faulty pipe? I couldn’t keep
Wheat, mostly, to David Davies, flax to the Owens, every month a careful list of profit
He is in the open laying something softer down. Leaves as tokens weigh the ground And twigs as sextants pull the low sun.
Glancing out from our corner table across the assisted living facility’s cafeteria, my mother-in-law Shirley says, “Why, there are no men here!”
Where there were only dirt and needles, I laid a floor of hardwood and shellac. I plaited walls into the forest.
Last century we took a lot of shots Of what we did, framing things for Look and Life So we could see us and our lot
You don’t know the forest of two minds bound by weeds grown from one to the other,
Life’s on the wire; The rest is waiting. I know I’m alive when I
