Monday, May 18, 2015

in spring


In this open field
we uncover the massive
bones of a moose

a shoulder blade like a
giant tropical fish
sullen and sucked of

color and light,
tendons and ligaments
still motion sinews

a graveyard, a harvest,
the bison and their curls
so coarse and alive, the

river otter and his sunset
show plus the trumpeter swans
are back, all grace and game on

showstoppers indeed, though
I prefer the heron and the
sandhill, their subtle and sultry ways

or the robin, rising from his round belly
guileless, feckless,
and we just want to eat and romp and

slow dance sweetly amongst
the heavy branches, the lilacs
so sagacious, the tiny rabbit two-step

listen to the grouse
and her wild rhythms
listen to the coyote

his tracks so smooth
like sweet wind
like the mama sow

and her cubs that
course down the trail
their weight and warm,

golden fur, thick honey
and taffeta sheen while the
bald eagle, I swear, grazes my

head,  tells me
I better look up, check the divine,
everyone seems to be calling at once.