Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Jewels in the Morning

—Photo by Ann Privateer

there were so many
crumpled stems under our feet
when we were younger than night

jewels in the morning
rest on petal tips outside
after we condense our lives

when desire lifts
its head and I am run out
the interior is blue


how shall I call thee
oh imminent one of mine
fur ball and all that can purr
when heaven is late
and the mundane reigns supreme
bird songs balance it out

—Ann Privateer, Davis

—Photo by Taylor Graham

—Taylor Graham, Placerville

            for Tygh-bo & Rosy

What can we do
but squint at the long distances

and trust Death to tell us,
the ewe who wouldn’t nurse her lamb
had a tumor the length of her belly.

Above the chorus of frogs
on the pond, an essential silence.

And the old ram—I chant him
back to the place he came
from: green as spring-dream grass.

Pasture to hill frost-
heaved, rain-lush; soil dark
with bones, the untold rites of March.

We walk among the dead.   


—Taylor Graham

Today, more rain but not enough to quench
a three-year thirst. By Tuesday, creeks erupting
out of hillsides; bubbles dancing over rocks.
Trees in blossom; watch for pollen flying wild
and reckless on a brisky breeze, coughs and
sneezes all around. By Wednesday morning,
clouds are pure and white as flocks new-shorn
too early because on Thursday comes a cool-
down, possibility of frost and rime or is it
rhyme, we’ll be shivering in our boots while
the gnarled old Tree of Heaven bides his time.


—Taylor Graham

Clouds are gathering, talking across
their aero-thermic distances
                         of weather
while my dog, on search, ranges
                                    head-high as if
inhaling the sky entire.
             He crests
a hill where cloud-wind carries sweet
             human scent.
Heaven’s in him as he skims
almost airborne over stubble-field
and I’m stumbling to keep up.
I’ll praise him to the heavens
                        for a find.
Up above, CLAP/applause. End-
of-summer clouds bunch 
jostling, yelling boom over there and
a spit of hail as thunderheads
loose their lightning
             tongues slither-bright, ignite
a flash across the road. So close!
of crash and wonder,
Heaven connects with earth—
are we
                          My dog knows
everything the wind says.


Today's LittleNip:

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

—Emily Dickinson


—Medusa, with thanks to today's contributors, and a reminder that Taylor Graham will be doing a book-signing this Saturday from 11a.m. to 3-ish at Placerville News, 409 Main St., Placerville.

—Photo by Ann Privateer