Firewood

Heft and bite of ax,
thock and crack and split of oak,
my hands in their gloves
make a sliding sound on a hickory handle.

The pile grows, spilling down on itself,
firewood - my labor of love
cut and split and stacked
in preparation for fires I'll never feel.

I remember flame kissed skin,
the smoke scent in your hair
and warmth, always warmth,
deep under blankets baked by loving.

Standing in the cold, I shatter another log,
smash deep along the grain
and bury the head of my ax in the ground
pause, then bend and lift again.

And I leave a little bit of me
in each separate piece of firewood,
my gift of flame,
burnt to ash by morning, but still smoldering.

come climb my tree

Come climb my tree with me.
Shed your shoes;
leap and catch hold.

This old anchor of oak,
granddaddy urged upwards when he was a boy
though he never swam through its branches.

Let's clutch, claw, and climb
trunk, limb and leaf
insinuating ourselves into its arms
like climbing into the lap of a lover.

Hide with me here at the top,
arms looped loosely over one big branch
- and each other.

We maintain only a tenuous connection to the ground,
closer to ourselves than to the rest of the low world underneath.

Pretend to touch the sky
reach your hand up and out
brushing clouds back like kittens.

Come climb my tree with me
and we'll go high enough, I think, to touch dreams.

I know why the coyotes howl

I know why the coyotes howl.
Last night I heard them
after the sun dipped low,
and left a lingering light
soon to be overpowered by darkness.
I heard them
howling, yowling, yipping,
in turns and together,
sounding and calling to me,
and I wondered why.

Why do you howl coyote?
What do you know of sorrow and loss?
What do you know of misery and waste?
What do you know of me?

And it seemed they paused.
Had I spoken aloud?
Tne silence waited to be filled,
and then I did speak aloud.
I howled.
Howled, not like old Ginsberg,
but a raw throaty note
that ripped open the night.
I howled and felt myself slip,
and the woods beckon
dark and cool and damp.

I stepped barefoot under pines
first slowly, scenting earth's musk,
then faster, heedless, reckless,
and I howled again and more.
Running now, pulse racing,
I shed shirt and shorts
and bounded naked and wild,
pounding up hills and leaping brush,
splashing a stream
to plunge arms out,
slicing under chill water,
a delicious shiver as I slowed and floated.
Emerging wet and dripping,
I howled again
and felt myself grow hard.
Excited, I touched myself
and brought forth the quick climax,
spreading my seed where I stood.

Spent, I turned from my rampage.
Shivering, I stood and listened
to distant howls,
to music mournful and sad.
But I did not voice my own again,
not yet not this night.

Can I believe in always?

Sip large, drink deep, let ghost dog play.
There's world enough and time, you say,
to share what others can only delay.

I am no Bogart,
nor was meant to be,
to give you up,
to sneer and leave,
no actor's false dignity for me,

no "we'll have Paris"
no "play it again"
no screenwriter's conceits
no kiss that ends
in a credit, trailing up the screen.

No lines, no touch, no fair,
the butterfly queen laughs.
The lines were drawn so long ago
and few who live can tread this path,

to pick a way 'tween hope and woe
when air is black and progress slow.
I held a sword, I held a staff
and far ahead I heard you laugh.

Calling out, you promised joy,
and I an end to my toil.
Beginning or end I cannot see,
slumped gracelessly to one knee
but shouted out, "This is not death."
I but pause to save my breath
and whispers come back with the wind,
"She has already set you free."

burglar

bring me the stalker, the crasher
the kicker of doors
put him down on all fours

the coward, the runner
the fleet-footed thief
who left empty-handed

the one without honor
the soul twisted black
the breaker, the taker

set him before me
and turn loose my rage
that I keep tightly caged

instead you hide
and skulk in darkness
like a roach

come, let me stomp you
for the satisfaction I'll feel
hearing your bones crunch

rise up
so I might slap you down
run
so I have a reason to chase
fight
give me a target for my wrath

B-movie kind of life

We'll have burgers and fries
and watch the kids play
after sunday supper with the folks,
a viciously ordinary day.

Sometimes the roof leaks,
but only when it rains.
The floor gets dirty.
The carpet collects stains.

We cut the tall grass,
and feed chickens the scraps.
We empty the trash
a bit late perhaps.

And we wait in vain for greatness,
great joy or terrible strife,
while we muddle thru our days
in this, our B-movie kind of life.

Linger a while

"Linger a while, thou art so fair."
The words that trapped Faustus trap me.
For you and I have lingered,
Leaning away, then turning back,
Stretching time so tight it trembles.
We snatch a stolen season, lingering
Reluctant to part, impossible to stay.

I shake my fist at time
With all the bravado of an eagle
Who sneers at the ground he leaves
Knowing all the while, he must land again.

We have lingered, you and I,
And the joy I've stolen remains
Like a note in the air
The moment after the harp is stilled.
And it is only after the lingering is done
That I realize my heart was filled.