a stone in a river, 27

Blind cat doesn’t know
it’s too early
to go

 

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I’m pretty much sucking at this.

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a stone in a river, 24

She’s making a racket:
sparrow youth, fledging
voice a rasp, feather against
any other straight-laced measure.

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Such a strange percussion, long and soft. As if keening had been stripped of tone. (I’d never heard it before today. Cool!)

a stone in a river, 23

So many fly under false notions
yet Crow’s tail feather breaks

then splits
against a sliver of blue sky.

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Still casting back to Carolee’s line, “the false notion.”

I saw this for the first time, a few days ago. Crow flew in the fir, and his tail spread against air, leaving a glimmer as he sat. It was lovely. And usual, for those with just the right perspective.

Two, crows. Actually.

a stone in a river, 22

Stalks follow the sun
before the bloom

Unseeing eyes point
ears to rustles

Black soil still warm
shadows a slant touch

Lowing roars pursue
a twilight plane

Shaped like a star
time boomerangs

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And this (forward & back) casts to Carolee’s sunflowers, along with tonight’s landscape.

I didn’t know stalks & leaves did that, either.

a stone in a river, 21

Mid-July and how do I tell juveniles from adults? Frantic flapping casts them as dependent. A fluttering flight-display strengthens wing muscles — play-acting experience they will need for courtship.

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a stone in a river, 18

she says it’s not the light that bothers her
but the whirring clicks that picture
her grey matter, spotted
signs she is well
on her way

 

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My mother had an MRI today to try to access the condition of her brain & count how many mini-strokes she might have had. Her biggest fear is a major stroke. I imagine it is all our fears.

a stone in a river, 17

small green grape-things
tempt us to think
summer might come
& smell like ripe tomatoes

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