Coyote Call
Persuade Raven Wing,
future legendary local,
to yodel the coyote call,
barks so deep in her throat
she might mourn a lost world.
Yet the yip-yip of the pups
trying to keep up,
confuse coyotes with a wicked wind
whipping its broad tail
across the desert prairie.
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Harney County Lessons
I am heartened
in this vast lonely land
by the room for affection.
Tundra swans swim in twos,
mule deer mingle, then muddle,
sandhill cranes remain faithful.
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Sunday Outing, Harney County
There is no reason to move fast,
not here, where the wind slaps
newcomers in the face,
insists we slow down
or miss the big prairie’s picture.
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Prayer for Returning, Harney County
The hay-gold light and the green sage will nourish me.
I will see an ibis, with a long neck, for my eyes only.
A crane will toss a stick and lure a faithful mate.
What bliss.
I will miss my son, my cat, and the rattle
of the Brooklyn train yard.
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Sweet and Sour
This winter I lost
my waist,
my nest egg,
my columns,
our 90-year-old maple
whose tired roots surrendered to relentless storms,
my patience with slumdog renters,
a gazillion arguments,
all of my geraniums,
gallons of tears.
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Seven Ways of Looking at a Dogwood
A nod to Wallace Stevens, a bow to Basho
Dogwoods turn fecund,
succumb one to another.
Black boughs birthing blooms.
Onward Christian trees.
Eastertime’s righteous branches
blister with crosses.
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