Tag Archives: nature imagery

This time on earth

Where does it go, when the hair recedes—and why does it leave? And will I go like that too, without any notice but more a long, slow fade like snow thawing in a field— And are we just that then, … Continue reading

Posted in death, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

4:59, Friday

In my time of darkness I go back to the old haunts, to Raymond Carver: I closed the book and he looked back, and in the morning spoke to me on the toilet, in my bathrobe with my phone: He … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

An examination of spirit and self, told from beneath a sheet

When Dawn leaves town, Charlotte sleeps with me in our bed. Friday night, and she complained about the Brian Eno music, calling it spooky. So I carried the remains of that record with me up Cougar Mountain the next morning, … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

Crow call for April

The chicken brined and so did I, in a solution of salt, memories and music. That Easter in France with Rob and Paul roasting the lamb — then the one 30 years ago I had to work at the drug … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 15 Comments

Blurred passage to poem

How the poem appeared an object in the mist I paddled toward and circled round And though it was odd and lustrous, with living things nesting and squirming inside, it was too tall and slick for me to climb. Better … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

When the saints go marching in

Softly the deer who live behind our house burrow down in a patch of green at night, and in the morning appear outside the abandoned house next door like figurines. The house has been abandoned for three years since it … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

The jagged blades the thin white veil

In the gray light of morning the thin grass blades turned brown beneath the snow, the barn in the back, the sound of the heat through the vents, the coffeemaker, the keys clicking like teeth when I type: here, they all … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 11 Comments