August Evening

Silence rises
from the lower meadow

the bowed wet grasses
struck dumb by storm

but it can't hush
the monotonous drop

of the dripping gutter
on the metal shovel

Still
silence tries

in this interval
to insinuate itself

like steam on this wet deck
before cicadas come

then slip up through the crowd
of noisy trees—crickets, owls— 

to fall, in the small dark hours.

 

February Burglary


Winter's erasure outside

stem and leaf and petal missing

Inside the old house
spaces are full of space

colder than the weather

The Sheriff takes pictures of absence
says it's going on
up here,  furniture

The old log walls
are accustomed to change

strangers, centuries

The windows watch
for different arrangements

inside and out