We debate what kind. Trumpeter or Tundra? Juvenile? Why alone here with the mergansers and mallards? We notice the shape of the beak. The nudge of orange. The grey rolling down the narrow neck and onto her back. Like dirty snow. Or clouded sky. The wonderous wings unfurl and spread every now and again. I…
Category: poetry
Yellow
Just the other day. Yellow. As we walked through a wet forest toward an unknown place. Stop hikers and ask how far? Embarrassed after they pass. We’re mountain climbers. Trail builders. “When was the last time we did that?” my husband asks. “How far to the lake?” But we are tired after a late…
Drift
Summer and the day drifts and shifts away. Like clouds. Shape of a rooster or whale. Shaded patterns along grasses. Branches that bend against sky. Or leaves. Dappled. There are shouts of a man and the bark of a dog. Voice of an owl calling, in an evening, as the day slips, as you study…
