Back and forth
One day 18 below, the next ten above,
then down to 15 below. Keeps us on our toes.
Double hat and hood one day, the next a rain jacket.
The garden under water, with a geyser
shooting up from under the ice under the water
and somewhere in there the blueberry bushes,
the sedum, delphinium, phlox, Shasta daisies,
the bulbs of lilies and the tulips and daffodils
underwater and under ice, tomorrow all ice
and how will it all fare? The jet stream is skidding
up and down the continent, and we’re on the line,
the underground tunnels of voles are on the line,
and the snow in the woods is on the line
and melting in a torrent down the field, under
the road and down another field into the woods
at the foot that we study when we’re walking with Star.
Is that grove next to the inlet? or what’s between?
I’d like to know, so many things to know before
time skids out of control, the ember of our star
burns out, the smaller ember of our life-forms,
of our lives. I take my paints to town and lay down
the underwater garden on some canvas paper,
the red willow, the small reflections in the pond.
One day 18 below, the next ten above,
then down to 15 below. Keeps us on our toes.
Double hat and hood one day, the next a rain jacket.
The garden under water, with a geyser
shooting up from under the ice under the water
and somewhere in there the blueberry bushes,
the sedum, delphinium, phlox, Shasta daisies,
the bulbs of lilies and the tulips and daffodils
underwater and under ice, tomorrow all ice
and how will it all fare? The jet stream is skidding
up and down the continent, and we’re on the line,
the underground tunnels of voles are on the line,
and the snow in the woods is on the line
and melting in a torrent down the field, under
the road and down another field into the woods
at the foot that we study when we’re walking with Star.
Is that grove next to the inlet? or what’s between?
I’d like to know, so many things to know before
time skids out of control, the ember of our star
burns out, the smaller ember of our life-forms,
of our lives. I take my paints to town and lay down
the underwater garden on some canvas paper,
the red willow, the small reflections in the pond.