Waiting on the Winter, Writing it out

would wish it
open palm of
the thought, it
was blue
and then tasted
of mallow

the thought
that was the most
beautiful

I make the window
a home, when you
go by in a sketch
of legs
of teeth

I am fetched
I am underneath

perfect, plain
entirely too lovely
in the cold-smelling
wind,

your face
festooned with
a promise.

Drinks and Ponies sometimes go together.

But poems, ponies, and drinks always go together....

http://www.changinggears.info/2010/10/04/reinvention-recipes-manhattans-two-ways/

Fox Hunting to the Memory of George Carnaghi

grandfather,
known mostly
by absence

I know now
that I love something
we could have loved
together

and I see you
in the low, fog-saddled
fields just before dawn

or in the bright shouts
of late fall trees

often, I hear you call
my heart
by the voice of a hound’s
long, throated cries

and grandfather,
when I gallop,
I know you gallop too