Excerpt

Moon Day in Winter

The tide came in so fast, whole years vanished
a blur of projects and relationships
swept away. The everlasting beach
retains uniform ripples, brain waves in sand.

Think of February days as present time,
a gift of snow-white hours, unfettered moments.
Welcome the suspect pause as growing space;
the body in transformation wins its birthright.

Do not consider it the end of strife
nor run to shallow water; accept the rule
of due process. Maturation erodes
surface differences, leaving character bones.

*****

Recipe for a Female Poet

Take the small white stone,
The old broken bone,
Feather from a drab bird;
Add a hank of hair
Clipped before surgery
On Adams rib.

Slingshot the small stone,
Wail with the jawbone;
Cut the feather tip
In your blood to dip.
Mark the virgin page
I exist. I was here.

*****

Parade

Now--right this moment--look! The morning sun,
warm golden bugle calling out the flowers;
and I, distracted by the smell of Spring,
forsake the urban world of measured hours
to watch the first parade of early birds,
led by a strutting cardinal's cheery trill,
to touch a budding branch, to taste new grass
and soak up sun until the air turns chill.
Time have I stolen from the drill of duty;
the rhythm of the season stirs my blood
to freshen it, as rain the rushing river;
my senses celebrate that surging flood.
As other folk march on their solemn way,
I'll gather sunshine for a rainy day.

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