And Also For You

And another evening
passes us by in every
shade of blue dusk,
and how my heart
almost bursts from this
love for you, and you,
and also for you.

On Rising

White rime
on every stick,
on every bough,
like the first light
that illuminates

the downy branches 
of a woman waking,
under a dome so blue 
it’s almost black, 
and behind that,

How the whole 
world is remade
beneath a fresh blanket
of snow, how it softens

yesterday’s questions,
and the body blessed
with sweet opening
turns toward
another morning.


All the things I thought
I wanted have flown away
like butterflies, and what lands

upon me now are petals
light as music, the scent
of November clouds before

the coming snow, the echo
of the children in the other
room, making their own

designs, all these passing things,
how they fill the night
with so much generosity,

a heart could float away
like the sea, a borrowed word,
a letter, a lover’s kiss.


The peaches are dropping,
dollar a pound.  Orchardist
at first blush, he drives
the camo four-wheeler,
broken and mended, trades
his walker for the wheel, two
new hips, and a brand-new
kidney, the boy from Greenwich
Village drives toward the heavy trees,
how he blossomed with the Beats, a
camera in his hands, and how he twists
each fruit so gently, to help it let go.
The dapple sun about to dip, our
buckets full, but not too full,
to protect the soft ones
hiding underneath.