Monthly Archives: July 2016

A Raindrop’s Joy

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river

–Ghalib, eighteenth-century Urdu poet

Smoke

Each afternoon a trail of smoke
    rises on the distant hills.

        I would go to see
            what is burning

     but then looking back
I would only see myself.

Poem for Shirley

THESE are the reckless mighty days returned, white haired and ravenous.
The paper bark maples drop their poems, the July rains crowd in close.
The Sunday paper obituaries fill the kitchen with the sylvan lives of others.
Fuchsia, white and orange in the garden.

I claim these days for doing nothing, for watching green fir cones fall.
I claim these days for imagining how you looked in your first car,
auburn hair flying, all the boys at baseball practice itchy and wondering,
your dress a flurry of blue dragonfly wings, perfume and desire.
I claim these days for imagining the light rising behind the mountains
and the tall boy at the grocery store finding just the right things
to say about all your days to come.