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Poetry

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poetry and digital art

American Summer

Poems written while traveling.

Meadow 


Tall grass dying in a small, closing
meadow.  The wind moving through

the grasses' lace flowers.  A quartet
of birds sing their four songs—and

then the wind stills.  Mammoth pines
and mammoth stumps and roots rotting

and opened as burrows.  The handsome fir
group like clans as their young edge

to the meadow.  Sun on the grass; wind
spreading through it.  I feel the wind

caressing my skin with its own song
and the envy of the long-blind dead
      listening to it.




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