Sunday, February 26, 2012

februas (ritual purification)

It is at last the month to wash off
the grievous old, and then we’ll see
about on with the tender new. Or not.

Choosing something to clean up,
it’s tempting to select the big thing
that engulfs your life completely.

I am told it is important to take the
biggest bite possible, or why try?
Last time, it resulted in breakage.

Still, it’s time, so here’s a ritual nibble.
Instead of mea culpa, this is the season
of I forgive, I forgive, and all blessings.

This may or may not be good enough.
However badly, I will do it over and over,
until memory’s scent is only sweet.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

small things

just a few birds
tracking, tracking -
and mice
over the snow. . .

let live, let love, let live

Monday, February 13, 2012

point five sonnet for cavity nesters

in a park-like forest of birch and tepid water
teeming with wrigglers and three wood ducks
we hear it – the dap, tap, phap! of chips
flying through the air. it is the expansion
of a starter home for chickadees, those
apretentious residents, those consumers
of remodeling inspiration sans permits!

dinner at any moment: insects tartare.

half sonnet for trash pick up

My old trash can elegant with pavé frost
crystals, and no bad scent yet on the wind -
it must be deep in January, and
the Sunday night, before the arrival
of rough gloves to trip the lid to dark.
Nothing for it: all the neighbor dogs

must go sniffing for other adventures.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Tuesday, February 7, 2012