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

HIGH GATE

—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.   

_________________________

WEATHER REPORT

—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.

_______________________

AIRBORNE
—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
BOOM
a spit of hail as thunderheads
loose their lightning
             tongues slither-bright, ignite
a flash across the road. So close!
Synchronicity
of crash and wonder,
             air-energy.
Heaven connects with earth—
are we
grounded?
                          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