Compensation A tree gets killed. Men in a hurry finds its heart and cut it apart. Down it dies through the green and golden halls, heavy as myth, and injures the earth, falling. The chainsawyers snarl into the corpse and snag on the dryad sleeping inside. The woods boss drags her out; The lumberjackss swear
Passing Time I sit quietly Waiting for nothing at all. The cats wait with me.
Now in mid-May spring is dancing into summer. Day after day the woods and fields learn new steps. I spend my time not doing something bad for me. Negative effort is my dance-master.
Think Again These woods are not wild Any more, I thought, and then The black bear appeared.
I have stopped smoking. My smeller works better Now, but my teeth itch.
Work In Progress “’How now, this smoking no longer serves. Oh, my pipe! Hard it must go with me if thy charm be gone! … What business have I with this pipe? I’ll smoke no more-‘ He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea.’” Herman Melville, Moby-Dick, Chapter XXX “Abstainer: A weak person who
May Morning Pleats and folds of cloud hang across the sky washed blue now the storm is over.
Late April Lament T.S. Eliot’s right: April’s cruel. But not in the sense that he meant. This month didn’t wake us. Instead, it may take us Till May for the snow to relent.
Requiem We owe life a death. I dare to hope that mine is Like a leaf’s in fall.
Drumph I’ve never seen the Mango Don. I’d sooner flee than see him. For he’s a liar and a con, And I’d rather see than be him. – after Garett Burgess’s “Purple Cow” poem