Rain Bird

Just a roll over
and under time,
I’ve been working on 

working through it
these past seven years.
No tunnels or bridges 

over ravines to dramatize
my life. The course
has been steady

as grace that floats 

in the inner harbor
where surfing is a bust. 

I’ve been giving
this big river in the middle
the time of day—saw a heron 

create shadows over Loring Lake
with its wing span. I might be ready
to take that risk, might spread 

my silhouette over the bell tower
before civil dawn breaks.

Pervious

Farmers market stalls
in newly arrived cold. She would crawl
into a Silva 

Cell to live among the roots
she never got to touch before going 

to hell and back
with a pail of structural soil. Would step 

over pervious
pavers to catch even a glimpse of you 

conversing with a large red
oak before another civil twilight breaks
apart light.

Wry

Into that laughter she takes
a wrong turn, lands
outside a stone 

wall where vines bare
their veins. The host separates
direct light from parallel lines 

across 

wind-stirred dirt. She picks it up
at the last possible moment
before rain drowns out sound.