Hollow

I'll hide you in my bosom

like an owl in a hollow,

and you will find it full and warm

with sustenance to swallow.

First Bird

First bird of the morning,
I heard you sing,
but now I hear thunder in your same sky.
Maybe there's rain
to come for the ground,
but while it is raining, where will you hide?

Cloud-Glasses

The strange yellow glow
of this pressure system (low)
reminds me of the cloud-glasses
that we used to have
to wear when it was grey
to make it seem a sunny day
but it just seemed cloudy-yellow
like today.

Don't Go Outch

I'd advise: do not go out
when there is no wind.
A mosquito will slurp you up his snout
and spit you out again.

The Rain Is Like a Curtain

The rain is like a curtain,
the drops are like the cloth,
that thick and heavy velvet
with corners chewed by moths.
The world outside's a theater.
We turn the script's first page.
Until the rain stops falling,
we'll practice here, backstage.

The Hills Are Alive

The hills are alive
with grass to my knees
and bugs and alfalfa––
all music to me!

Flowering Tree

I'd like to be
a flowering tree
with toes in the water
and hair in the breeze,
as strong as an oak
and as light as a feather,
except I want to bloom
through each season's weather.

Chartreuse

Justice, now I know why you chose chartreuse.
It seemed an ugly color; now I know the truth.
It comes out of the trees
before it turns to dark green leaves.
It's the color of spring, the color of new.

Not Just Nice

Oh, let me not be like today,
sunshine spread across my face,
but with a heart as cold as ice.
Let me be loving, not just nice.

Spring Inside

Spring smells like my college town, the last place I smelled spring,
and it's like I'm in Kentucky in the morning when birds sing,
and the breeze is Colorado with the window open wide,
and now I realize how much spring I've bottled up inside.

A Different Smelling Spring

A different smelling spring–
served quite chilled, then warmed quickly,
with notes of melting snow
sweet and earthy on the nose,
this spring has woody undertones:
fresh-aged ash, maple, oak, and pine,
the neighborhood filled with sawdust fine.

Talking About the Weather

On April twenty-two,
two-thousand-thirteen,
a cold wind blew,
and the snow was mean.
And I would guess
that no one would blame us
for just talking about the weather.
This April is famous.

If

I'll take you to the pool,
and we'll go out on walks
and pluck up blades of grass
and learn to not eat rocks,
and I'll push you in the swing
and we'll watch your dad brew beer
and picnic on the yard
if we have summer this year.

Shade

Some trees outlive us.
Some trees we outlive.
And if everything stayed alive
to shade our perfect lives
we would have to be
the very first to die.

Ice Storm

I suppose these branches were weak,
and so many trees needed pruning,
and we really needed the moisture,
and God has his own sense of timing.
So often we complain
about how long things take
and we don't like to wait
but then listen to us when
it all
happens
at once.

The Ice Storm

I had never seen ice like that.
I had never seen branches so fat
and so many limbs, falling to the ground,
so many repetitions of that crack-and-shatter sound.
So many trunks and wires and sticks
all buried in snow, to add to the mix.

Louder

Louder every morning,
the birds sing in the trees.
They are louder than the chickens,
and that puts my mind at ease.
And they're louder than the footsteps
that go across my ceiling
and they're louder than my worries,
and that gives me a good feeling.

In These Two Weeks

In these two weeks since I have written,
the first warm days of spring have come,
and we have spent no little time
making up for lack of sun.
And we have talked until we've found
where our sameness ends
and then we've talked until we've found
a way to still be friends.
And I have pushed the stroller fast
for miles on the trail
and we've come home, sat on the step
and sorted through the mail.
And then we pruned the apple tree
which had been getting thick
and you reached out too far to lop
one more superflous stick
and that is when the ladder fell
and so, of course, did you.
I rushed you to the doctor
just like when you had the flu
except this time your eyes were rolling
back into your head
because your pinky snapped in two.
I'm glad that you weren't dead.
And now you have some little screws
holding the bone together
and a blocky splint to wear
in this nice springy weather.
And our baby took several steps
until she stopped and saw
she was too far up off the ground
so she dropped down and crawled.
And I made logos and labels and emails
and you made calculations
and tips and wages to put in the bank
to save for a downpayment.
Our seedling have sprawled across my desk
and into pots on the floor.
I am surprised how much they've grown
but maybe we've grown more.

Pruning

We reach up to prune the trees,
decreasing to increase,
and God with love does the same to us
and with a downward reach.
Yes, you were foolish, you forgot to think,
when you reached too far from the ladder.
But God thought long and hard and knew
that he would wisely rather
fall to the ground, like you, with pain
except more like a seed
that dies, is buried and rises again
to give us what we need.

Stall

The leaves left from last fall
are now not green at all.
They chose to stay
but died anyway.
Why did they choose to stall?