Poetry begins in attention.
It compresses experience until only what is essential remains.
Some poems lean toward revelation. Others toward recognition. All begin with the attempt to see differently.
Petroglyph
peck peck peck repeat
observe align peck repeat
sky pressed into stone
mathematical truth
love hardens into form
too fast not to break
To the barnyard, down the plank-by-plank walkway.
Wood grouted in earth, no more, except occasional
tar. Determined, I toddled the wooden walkway, a sturdy
walkway assembled by sturdier hands. Grandpa’s hands.
From the back kitchen door to the front barnyard fence,
splintered beams, buried deep and immovable; trip-able.
Fresh-cut grass, the picnic kind, to my right. Luscious
ripening peaches, plums, and apricots wafting from the left.
Grandpa lived at one end, Grandma at the other. The path
between was well-worn and long walked, plank by plank.
Not always even, but well-worn and long walked.
shrinking from wonder
partial consent to partial darkness
too far away to know the cosmos
the dahlia spectrum seeds the cosmos
where Dahl once tended child wonder
and doubt hides in fields of dancing darkness
already dead, light reaches for darkness
and curiosity drifts amid a chaotic cosmos
until stardust exposes living wonder
whose place is it to wonder
about dead-night darkness
while the cosmos spills its brilliance above?
Attention
i
am
in deed
well-mannered
prone, erect, i’m here
in altitude, my readiness
watching consciousness escorting care—always more care
fighting compliance to ceremonial politeness, opting for inward notice