I
About life I can say nothing. Instead,
half-blind, I wander the woods while
a west wind picks up in the trees
clustered above. The pines make
a music like no other, rising and
falling like a distant surf at night
that calms the darkness before
first light. How weightless
words are when nothing will do.
II
There was a season of snails, cankers, green slugs,
gophers I never saw, and then a short autumn
without a harvest, and the brown vines I tried
to burn with that year's leaves. A lifetime passes
in the blink of an eye. You look back and think
That was heaven, so of course it had to end.
III
The gray dove on my windowsill
is still moaning over yesterday's
smashed eggs. But now the first
jackhammer breaks down
the dawn with its canticle
of progress. The garbage truck,
the street sweeper take their turns.
And the birds of the air and the beasts
of the field? They take their lumps
today and everyday, saith the TV.
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