Snapshot Poems 2004
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Snapshot 17 November 02004
This new moon nightthe city is too brightfor all but a few stars. On the river path, I finda dead pigeon. I leave itfor scavengers. The next morning there is nothingbut feathers and kernelsof corn. Now the sky hangs low and thick;pinkish with the city’sreflection. This wind speaks, it tells methere is snowin the mountains… Continue reading
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Snapshot 03 November 02004For Árni Ibsen
I wake to a cold, grey morning and election news I do not like. You would not like it, either, but you do not hear it. The ash tree is filled with waxwings, red berries scattered on the ground. Here, winter approaches; there, where you are, it is a different season, in that mysterious land… Continue reading
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Snapshot 20 October 02004
Autumn comes on a big wind. Trees grow bare. Streets and walkways rustle orange-yellow- red. I pull out the winter parka and brush dust from the boots. Sparrows gorge at the feeder, rounding out their feathered bellies. Nuthatches stop by on their way somewhere else. There is that bitter winter taste in every gust; rime… Continue reading
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Snapshot 06 October 02004
house cat in the window — chirping at the birds Continue reading
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Snapshot 29 September 02004
when the muse goes what is left? — only autumn UPDATE: Hmm, maybe I could make this a little love poem: when you go what is left? — only autumn What do you think? Andrew suggests: when he goes what is left? —… Continue reading
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