ant5

A Fox Who Knows Too Many Tricks

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Indian Summer

a stick twisted to keep

the spider upright

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rehearsing a lie

the orange brilliance

of a poppy field

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explaining again

our two homes

snow drifts

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gray salamander

a childhood creek

through my fingers

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orange blossoms

years since I’ve been

bare-chested under the sun

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crunch of dried leaves

I am a fox who knows

too many tricks

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old steel town

snow heaped

beside the road

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pebbled beach

she turns away

to breastfeed

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snow begins to fall

the inappropriate things

she says sometimes

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paper white bulbs

the faint moon

in my thumbnail

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red oak leaves

a couple married late in life

holding hands

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moon just full

who drives

my old car now?

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snow-covered garden

a mental note

to wire money

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weekend alone

I lift the ficus

into a larger pot

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hoar frost

the old corner

with unmarked graves

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stairs down to the sea

a dandelion

with seeds intact

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tidal silt

the airport’s wind sock

blowing the other way

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long week’s end

a hint of red

in the pickleweed

:

too late to pull it out

the white rump

of a clapper rail

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billion year old moon

an outgoing wave

reveals sand crab holes

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beads of pond water

on a lily pad

the impossibility of sunup

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called home

first crinkled leaves

on the maple tree

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commuter station

a bee lingers

in the tickweed

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rain to the north

a loose rung

on the lookout tower

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office window

they say no two snowflakes

are the same

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all these years later

the same pine bough

wet with rain

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irregular frame

of a tree fort

chimney smoke

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returning geese

her ashes still

in the plain tin

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our old field

each step

releases cabbage whites

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spring morning

flies return

to a crab carcass

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