Friday, October 22, 2010

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

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

your face
festooned with
a promise.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Drinks and Ponies sometimes go together.

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

Friday, October 1, 2010

Fox Hunting to the Memory of George Carnaghi

known mostly
by absence

I know now
that I love something
we could have loved

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