The bear came quietly after dark
no one still around the fire
heard it knock the garbage over
or drag the bags
shreds and wrappers
strewn across the dark yard
like stars
like rotting constellations
We feasted hours earlier
cracking the crab legs
dragging out meat
with tiny forks
Summer is sweet work
a bowl for the rinds
another for the pits
nothing good under the sun
except for this
the size of this night
an ocean in search of a shore—
a mouth in search of a word
it is not good to sit here alone too long
it never did rain
but clouds obscure the moon
it should be nearly full
asymptotic arriving—
two owls call back and forth
in the forest out back
nearly pitch black—
sound establishes the distance
the evening breeze, cooler
breaking the news gently
rain in the forecast
none to soon
the grass parched
birds laying about stupefied
a crow with its mouth ajar
beak at right angles
red flag warning
East of the cascades
still light this late
the softened dappled kind
that gets tangled in the trees
that might set one on fire
you always know where you are
I cannot relate
(to know where you are
you must be in one place)
even now this toe is in the ocean
this hand still touching the train that left
this ear full of a child’s wailing
this one, a bird, far-off
you can go anywhere in the alpine
(what you carry is only what you packed)
rare air above the talus slops
but even on a summit
I am already halfway back
yellowjacket on the double-pane
on a reflection of a leaf inside
he is missing an antennae
and stays a long time
absorbing the morning heat
easy to forget
even summer has its edges
salmonberry thorns
and early-season tartness
the splintering dock
our feet grown soft
some spider has tried
to tether the world overnight
a tenuous cohesion
when it catches in the sunlight
the yellowjacket pulses four wings
open shut open shut
I look for a word
but cannot find it
I used to live on this street
before I met you
before you bought this house
how many times did I walk by it
a neat trick
a whip stitch
of time and place
of whens and mes
Out on a lake
out on a boat
the perfect place
for one who wants to rest
and one who wants to go
finally leaving the hospital
what details tired eyes
will settle upon—
the cloud deck
voluminous, sterile
the textures of gauze
of cotton packing
this maple has green leaves
but the stems—
the very hue
and diameter of an artery
bad news over dinner
drinking wine in evening shade
a wasp climbs down
into the bowl of sweet cherries
knowing from the opening lines
the rest of the story
before it can be said—
a body fails in predictable ways
the wasp is vexed
by its futile endeavor
hovering above the table
wings beating, beating out
an apian rebuke—
the unanswerable question
goes unanswered
the clouds go on forever
a patterned print—
cirrus, cumulus
unthreatening and benign
too hot to sleep
get a glass of water
moonlight fills the bathtub
what dreams come
are just below the surface
unsolvable equations
the subconscious creates
works at and works at
the open eye of the window
still air static as a tomb
all that moves is birdsong
dawn robins with their leitmotifs
their circular logic
dusty and washed out this early
up before dawn bakes into day
no traffic yet
old songs on the radio
slack-keyed, free-wheeling
nostalgic slow songs
high-flying gulls
snow on far-off mountains
both chipped from the sky
nothing like an empty road
wide open highway
the mirage of free will—
the elusive horizon
never quite arriving
never quite needing to
OPTIONAL POETRY 