After a Hard Winter

Because we cannot fall much farther now
We sit inside our cold enclosure. Trees
Encamped around us wave with withered bough
And dance to memories of sun and bees;
Because the last crisp leaf has blown afar,
And synchronated sunbeams signal morn,
Because the waxing crescent sends a bar
Of white across the inky sky, forlorn,
A single songbird whistles something fresh
And night's grim darkness sheds its weariness.
Because each day remakes young nature's creche
And green begins to brighten and to bless,
At last we yawn our hungry mouths agape
And breathe new air that spring has shook awake.

Selfie with Dad

A Sonnet

He lives in silence. Fiercely keeping taut
his tongue: his eyes, his shoulders tell the truth.
Some speak on his behalf, but this is not
his will. Without explicit words, the proof
of his intent lies dark within his eyes.
The dent beside his jaw speaks louder than—
intently louder than— the thousand lies
that fall from mouths of histrionic men.
He lives in silent truth, above reproof,
beyond the laws and judgment of design,
without pretense and perfectly aloof.
This man, whose soul is dark but still benign,
is noble, beautiful, and too above
the mortal plane to feel my paltry love.

On Capulin Mountain

O Capulin! My Capulin!

From your precious heights I see

Three little volcanoes,

Erupted long ago,

Worn down by the ages of wind, water, and grazing

Animals.

O Capulin, I see inside you,

A small lake, scattered cinderstones,

And in my mind’s eye, caverns of petrified horror:

Stalactites and stalagmites of insect burrows,

Eaten out from the inside a million years after erupting.

A metamorphic mess.

I see steam rising, O Capulin,

From my own arms

In the cold desert air.

Creatures a mile away can smell me.

All the mosquitoes in New Mexico are not half so far away.

I see the black red stones pushed aside

By green chutes and stems.

Yellow, orange, blue, and violet

Delicate petals (tiny craters)

Reach toward the burning sun.

I see my own flesh, grizzly pink and glistening, sticky-hot.

The cattle with nothing much to graze leave steaming floes on the lava floes:

Mock miniatures of their scenery

Dotted on the dry land.

It’s so hot and cold here that I can see the temperatures, O Capulin-

I see them hovering midair.

Night's kiss

Imperfect veil of viölet velvet 

Across the sun's face strung at night, A sea

Of stars establishes, Our fears curtains

Misdeeds we would not do under the gaze 

Of watchful days. Instead we wait. We wait.

Until the light may shield each sin (we wait),

For night to say the things our weak hearts think.

We wait until the veil falls 'way; We wait

To sing and wear our innocence (why wait?)

Like a blinding halo. Woe head, woe heart:

Both ache in daylight's lustre. Still I wait 

Because both heart and head may muster night's 

Blue gloom. And then may love begin to heat:

'Neath freckled sky and all the sin we greet.

Evil Nonsense

I remember as a child

Playing on the lawn

How once I caught a wild

Bird to be my pawn

On the painted chessboard

With seven missing pieces

Allegedly pilfered by Lord

Fortesque's young nieces.

One of them tapped the bird

With one intrepid toe

Shrank back without a word

Brought the other girl to show

The gruesome thing to

Half dead, it couldn't sing to

Them or else wise entertain 'em

Until a game of badminton

Became their jeu du jour