Mole

Burrowing in greenest dell

Tunneling the hillocks’ swell

Wherein sleeps the gnome

In the dark, dig dirt and stone

Are these emeralds or men’s bones?

Sightless, cannot tell.

Through earth’s corridors I roam

Underground I keep my home

With the roots I dwell.

Evergreen

I am the tree in the corner, waiting.

Bedecked with gold, I’m hesitating.

Tonight is Christmas Eve, I know—

I’ve seen the holly and the snow.

 

I hide behind

My sparkling lights

This night is not

Like other nights.

 

My tinsel trembles,

Needles shake

When all else sleep,

I’ll be awake.

 

I’ll see the angels

Drifting down

To kiss the star

Upon my crown.

 

I’ll smile at our nativity—

Then do not tremble,

Christmas tree!

Cat

Cat

Gently she comes on ink stained paws

with stars like minnows in her jaws.

She lands like a whisper on my back;

her eyes are black, her tail is black.

She purrs around my feet and head

then curls beside me in my bed.

She yawns and swallows up the light:

She calls me warmth—I call her night.

Yours for Now

“Yours for now, but not forever.”

Nothing, really, mine or yours;

Except the marbles and the crackers,

But they’re all crumbs now, pigeon food.

So toss them on the water, gently,

It’s getting darker faster now.

You squint to see your ragged sneakers.

You pluck a feather from the mud.

It’s colder now, but where’s your jacket?

You must’ve left it in the car.

Listen, you hear them distant, softly

Voices of a couple walking.

The stars are out, as sharp as staples

On the dark pool of the sky,

The moon is crooked, bright, and little

A chilling breeze catches your hair.

Around the gravel at your feet

The wavelets lap like freezing tongues.

Let's Paint My Ostrich

Let’s paint my ostrich.

Yes, let’s paint him blue.

We can paint your ostrich too.

How cliché, if he wasn’t blue!

How boring, black and white!

Why, he’d resemble Oreos,

Or fields of snow at night.

Travelers

Travelers

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Reflecting light's last rays, they're golden swirled
Which, full of wet kelp dot the sheer black cliffs.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
We'll trade for steady breezes with our crowns
Minerva-blessed, we'll whisk across the miles.

Though much is taken, much abides; and though
Another generation burns and builds,
The world holds many haunts and fields— we'll go
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

And so I'll be content—when I can cry
Of all the western stars, until I die.

 Based on "Ulysses" by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Isaiah 6

Isaiah 6

I saw the Lord sit high upon a throne.

A seraphim with six wings, twain and twain

Cried: "Holy is the Lord!" His glory— shone.

The doorposts moved; the house was filled with smoke.

Then said I: "Wo is me, Of unclean lips!"

An angel with a live coal flew and spoke:

"Thy sin is purged, Lo, this has touched thy lips."

"Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"

Said God. Then I said: "Here am I; send me."

He said, "They will not understand, or see

Make their hearts fat." Then said I: "Lord, how long?"

"Until the cities desolate wastes be;

And shall be eaten, as a linden tree.

They cast their leaves; so holy seed shall be."