She

She left by the back door-
no one heard her go,
no squeak from the hinge, that tattle tale,
to name her exit route.
No one pled, scolded or called out
no one bade her go with scorn,
darkness tucked her under wing
then suddenly it was morning.

She had unloosed herself,
by degrees pried her lonely fingers
open. She half expected,
to feel inside that slipping grip,
the flutter of meaningful things
escaping, but only she stirred
down to ashes the embers while
her family cozied to disaster.

Robin

First the breast comes to mind,
that red vest between the brown lapels.
Sturdy bird on twig thin legs,
it seems a brisk wind could topple you.
I've never seen a bird upset, little stick legs
skyward. There you are, little
rotund friend with a sweet song
that sends me back
to grade school days, where I watched
your southern cousins listen
cock-headed groundward with unblinking
eyes. Through sun-washed windows,
the teacher droned on about spring
while we good little children budded
inside, like the trees pink with promise.
Somewhere up north the snow was melting,
eaves dripped with ice tears
but we had flowers all year round
and my heaviest coat was a sweater.

Sometimes When the Light

Sometimes When the Light

the golden light of evening

gilds the tops of trees

and pulls the softest brown from

the sedge grass

above it all a harvest moon

alone abides, except for me

while evening dies

and cicadas’ dirge

draws out the stars

who weep not for the passing day

the darkening trees root night to earth

which bends to seal itself to the horizon

I sit pasted into place

drawn dream-like

to stare into the depths of space

between the black and blue of sky

amid the fragrant withered grass of summer