1: Nominal Perfection
Water droplets on the lupine
leaf, diamondesque. White iris,
bearded white—flawless astonishment.
The Spanish lavendar in low ascension:
tiny angels, purple wings, nacimiento.
2: May
Morning chiaroscuro: ill thoughts,
quiet rage, anger and frustration; I take
the long way to work. Lingering, I notice:
on a morning like this I think otherwise,
things could change.
3: As Love Continues
The dry heat of this summer comes
too early. Yellow weeds line my yard
in mid-May. My wife sighs and takes
to her bath. And again I marvel at her
glistening submersion, the aureoles.
4: The Sway
Middle of May—mid-afternoon; sunlight
filtering through the maple's leaves—the sway
a journal of breezes: butterflies, poppies,
dragonflies, English lavendar. A spotted Towhee
sings, it seems, with my neighbor's string trimmer.
5: Outright
The world is full of little beauties especially
outright in May—the Scotch broom
blooming, a bank of red hot pokers,
the black dog riding in a white pickup truck,
the young woman behind the steering wheel.
6: Catalpa
Years ago, in a smokey workshop
a woman read a poem titled Catalpa.
An unfamiliar tree in an obtuse poem.
But on this warm morning in June
I clearly see it bloom.
7: Day Off a Work
I take a day off of work, decide
to go for a jog; I find the park
empty of its usual crowd. It's only me
and the sun (my struggling to breathe),
the birdsongs, the dog poop, the horse shit.
8: Wind Chime
Alone in the afternoon—sitting in a chair,
thinking, drinking, sweating, renewing life's
irritants of work, friends, and promises—
not hearing the wind chime, not hearing
the birdsongs, not seeing the breeze
vibrate the window blinds.
9: Remembering Susie
Her father died in the war
in France, by a dirt road
behind a row of elegant poplars
that could not save his hurried life,
on a June day much like this one.
10: Nominal Eternity
June 5th: the wild grass long dead, now
moving into the mullein, the mustard, the wild
sweet pea already looking windblown, dusty
and haggard where I then paused
to wonder: might this become a memory?
11: Early Summer Pastoral
The canopy of the trees, the restricted vision,
creates a slightly swaying, wistful intricacy
somewhat akin to jazz: the simple, yet
unseen melodies; the structural strength
in evidence; the occasional, thrilling breakthrough
into pure blue.
rdking