Out of the Fog
After heavy late winter snows, warm winds
blow up from the south, lifting white clouds
from snowbanks piled high
along walkways, parking lots, streets,
fog so thick it seems the sky has lowered
and we are lifted into it, quieted, expectant
as a sheet of paper or blank canvas
We sit on the verandah with earth-filled pots,
fog on the other side of the railing.
I haltingly say, I am on the edge of new words
and at once a flock of small dark birds appears
out of the fog flying straight toward us,
black marks against all that whiteness,
swings up and over the roof,
and then gone
Conversation with the Moon
You often wake me
when full,
shining through
unshuttered windows,
insistent.
I finally rise.
This morning you woke me
at 4:00 a.m.,
and wanting to ignore your invitation,
I pulled the covers tight
when my husband, coffee in hand,
whispered through the door,
A lunar eclipse!
Floating mid-heaven,
your silver body glows,
Earth’s shadow, a blue halo,
moves slowly across your radiance,
your waxing lunar phases
travel in fast slow motion
within the hour;
by dawn a tangerine globe shimmering,
whisper,
This is why I woke you​
Rainy Season
The rain starts tinny on the roof,
drips from banana and ti leaves,
drenches papayas and mangos,
pelts percussively
into red dirt
down to the first layers of roots,
then lets up—
for a moment the sky brightens
Curtains of rain
fall for hours,
day after day
after day.
The rain seeps down
through sedimentary,
metamorphic layers,
rivulets turn to streams
then rivers underground,
filling giant lakes,
overflowing
California Burning
Summer lightning thrusts
into parched earth,
dried grasses
in the forests
tinder for a blaze.
The first tree catches
fire running up the trunk
along the ground
to the next pine,
and the next,
from crown to crown.
Wind drives hard
along mountain ridges,
sparks shower
from a crimson sky,
hillsides disappear.
Down mountain slopes
rivers race blood red,
blood orange,
tree skeletons shake,
towers of black smoke lift
above the slopes.
In the hellish flames,
screams of frantic animals
are not heard, birds fly
out of a searing wind.
Days later, ghostly trees
stand with pared-off limbs,
mountain slopes covered
in thick ash—
an eerie silence drifts
in neighborhoods still smoldering.
I hear Earth calling, Sister, Sister
Rising Moon
Rising moon
a teacup tipped
on the horizon
the sky pours out
Hold no regret
in parting​