PAUL M. ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

A Fox Who Knows Too Many Tricks

:

:

Indian Summer

a stick twisted to keep

the spider upright

:

rehearsing a lie

the orange brilliance

of a poppy field

:

explaining again

our two homes

snow drifts

:

gray salamander

a childhood creek

through my fingers

:

orange blossoms

years since I’ve been

bare-chested under the sun

:

crunch of dried leaves

I am a fox who knows

too many tricks

:

old steel town

snow heaped

beside the road

:

pebbled beach

she turns away

to breastfeed

:

snow begins to fall

the inappropriate things

she says sometimes

:

paper white bulbs

the faint moon

in my thumbnail

:

red oak leaves

a couple married late in life

holding hands

:

moon just full

who drives

my old car now?

:

snow-covered garden

a mental note

to wire money

:

weekend alone

I lift the ficus

into a larger pot

:

hoar frost

the old corner

with unmarked graves

:

stairs down to the sea

a dandelion

with seeds intact

:

tidal silt

the airport’s wind sock

blowing the other way

:

long week’s end

a hint of red

in the pickleweed

:

too late to pull it out

the white rump

of a clapper rail

:

billion year old moon

an outgoing wave

reveals sand crab holes

:

beads of pond water

on a lily pad

the impossibility of sunup

:

called home

first crinkled leaves

on the maple tree

:

commuter station

a bee lingers

in the tickweed

:

rain to the north

a loose rung

on the lookout tower

:

office window

they say no two snowflakes

are the same

:

all these years later

the same pine bough

wet with rain

:

irregular frame

of a tree fort

chimney smoke

:

returning geese

her ashes still

in the plain tin

:

our old field

each step

releases cabbage whites

:

spring morning

flies return

to a crab carcass

:

:

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