There is an old woman collecting leaves on the sidewalk No one notices what happens to all the leaves They are like days we sometimes save and they can be beautiful, and look like all the rest The days are… Read More ›
Poetry
Song of myself, ourself
I stood at the Hoh Head on the Washington coast and looked out on the lone, proud rock that stood hard against the sea And the clouds moved like a membrane, how they swelled and became gauze across my eyes… Read More ›
Retreat, to the dark
The backbone of a cottonwood on the clouds, a fossil through my window — The nail of the moon, cupping the weight of the sky, low-lidded demon, jeweled crown. Hands sticking out of trees, green hands and fingers, quiet hillsides… Read More ›
White pigment
A frog makes a corkscrew croak, keeps warm, sings A friend’s mix tape in the garage, where men go, to hide A picture of a writer on a rocker with a notepad and pen, threads pulled from his pocket, he… Read More ›
Song for winter
The ocean pounds the rocks and the sky’s gone to slate, and it’s the sound of lovers dashed to pieces, in the mist: and it’s all we ever wanted, to disappear to the roar of the applause and go back… Read More ›
Love binds you in sleep
I saw your face through the frame of a dream I put it together from memory, like a snowman: The eyes, nose, smile I said I love you and looked back for a reaction, To see if it was real… Read More ›
Song for madness, ode to moon
The halo around the moon is the son of madness who follows a cold light who sits inside shadows haunted by sounds — a footstep, a figure, a face… who’s fallen for his own reflection, has nothing but himself and… Read More ›
Song for autumn
A piece of fuzz in the air, a seed-bloom, a soul, will-o’-the-wisp leading me to uplit trees, quiet hillsides, hidden peaks. A voice, a dream, a memory, the sunset in autumn and softening light: Who can pretend the angle doesn’t affect… Read More ›
Gray on Brown
The colors mirror my insides this time of year, the muted tones and dampened smiles The earth settling in, parts of it fallen to repose in piles and patterns, Wisps of wood fire smoke: the crackle in the leaves, the… Read More ›
Seeds spin like helicopters
We’re like seeds in the sky, how we start in the distance and might be a bat, a sparrow, a dragonfly, a seed We start from one corner and slip to the side, come back into focus, carry on a… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 