Sunday, January 25, 2015


Poppies and Lupine near Village Site

A phoebe loops to the last
serious fence and chirps
excitedly, distracting us 
from its nest as we creep...

three feet away before it leaps 
and weaves through the wings 
of a cattle guard into the branches 
of a valley oak. Once I flew

down this road while my father
snoozed in the passenger seat
after a long day of fishing
in the heat, thirty-five years ago....

Ithuriel's Spears and Fiesta Flowers by Stream

He died a week later. I return again
to search for signs of the vanished
at the confluences--trails, house pits,
pounding stones--until I sense  

an overarching consciousness, 
the grass and trees tuning
to a frequency that I know 
my father felt so long ago,

my soul tuned to the tranquility 
of the World Soul, a peace
beyond understanding that never
totally vanishes from the earth,

Ithuriel's Spears and Pretty Face

a peace that links us again
as swallows thread through
branches into the holes of one
of the few unaltered embankments 

large enough for a whole flock, 
violet-green swallows suddenly 
weaving between them, both flocks
describing in air and water 

the presence of flies as we gaze 
silently a long time at loops 
of white and brown, white
and iridescent violet-green. 

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