| Bind Up My Life A Work in Progress Page 6 |
| Spoonfashioned Lovers Fog creeps in at sunset And tucks herself in To the contours of the Hollow~ Spoon-fashioned lovers In the still of the long cool night. The moon, as a night light, Left on for good measure~ Stag and doe, Shy little rabbit, Owl with the keen, keen eye~ They weave their ways In and out of dreams Until the morning echoes A chorus in the key of bird. Hollow stirs and stretches And sweet Fog, For a moment she lingers~ One last fond embrace, Then wistful and silent She is gone |
| Sulking I walked this wood again today It is now November I have watched her flower and bloom and fade I have seen attempts of the caretakers To tame her wild ways A split rail fence here, bracing there� She is like a willful child having her hair combed In the end all will be tangles again. The storms have felled limbs already They lie like forlorn serpents Writhing in a sea of leaf My son has asked me to look for bones He does not care what I see or hear He does not care what I write of this wood He wants proof - the hard and tangible He wants bones. There are no remembrances Of the night Dramas in dreamlight But I suspect they are there all the same At 48 I still foolishly want wizards and elves Making merry at midnight Making war by moonlight But like him I want proof The hard and tangible I suppose the remains Of a little elfin carcass would do Amid the tall straight conifers I raise my head to the heavens They stand tall and straight All of their finery reserved For the upper most reaches They sway like peacock plumes Below the ground is soft and spongy Soft are the needles of the conifer tree There is a settling in of the willful child Stubbornly she will sulk and wait In the cold rains of Autumn Sulk until her ground is covered with snow Sulk and wait For the warming friendship of Spring |
| A PURGATORY OF THE SEASONS It is a gloomy day � The storm has stripped the trees Of their brilliant robes Exposing the crows nests They hang Like rings on the fingers Of old women Humble arms raised to the heavens Praying for a quick and gentle winter A crow flies in from the hinterlands Sharpening his beak on a bony finger He contemplates the carrion On the road below Raccoon, possum, deer The odd kitten Who found out too the late The possibilities of curiosity Yes it is a gloomy day And I too, do pray For a quick and gentle winter The promises of an early Spring Of life, of hope, of green No more this awful gloom A state between day and night A purgatory of the seasons A shadow between dark and light |
| LITTLE JENNY WREN Little wren with a song so sweet Caught by the claws Of little cat feet. Little Jenny wren is dead She lies there in the cold cold snow A gaping hole where her heart should go Oh how I miss my little wren so ~ Little Jenny wren is dead. Little Jenny wren is dead�.. |
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