Turn the ship around / for the holiness / of open water: / / your beam and mast, / magnificent.
Bed-shape all day, window by the freeway's / carnival whispering . . .
In a lawn chair, the river so shallow and clear, a crystal ribbon stitching together the valley floor. You look down and see granite, quartz, silt, the hollow skeletons of mayflies
Late for a hike / but still I go, / headlight and hat / in pocket — the defiance / of time on a Sunday — / to dissolve myself / in bishop pine
Wait, my children are growing / too fast and we neglected / the garden this summer
There is an ineffable green / and there is no justice / in minimal effort and lack of vocabulary.
Psaltery & Lyre 