Turkey Tending

a small head on a long curved neck

kuk kuk kuks through tall grasses

I watch, utterly still, for the brown bobs

of ten poults foraging around her

they rock forward & back, investigate

every sunlit blade, lunge at ants

& centipedes & dragonflies

if I make a sound or turn my head

mother hen hustles, duly warned

her poults whirr up, flutter down

pitch & yaw around her bulk like boats

breasting a choppy sea, cluster close

then skitter off like wind-blown foam

to browse another field of green

Crows

are not white

they make noise

they do the dirty work

sun flashes off feathers

thronged with lice

eyes don’t bead, they shine

before a crow brought us fire

fable says crows were white

as if black were misfortune

stalk, stroll, shoulder toss

sheer black in clear light

chase a hawk, tear at roadkill

a crow is the first bird 

you see in a strange land

the last you hear as you leave

the world teems with crows

a crow’s caw transposes

one thing into something else

nothing is nothing to a crow

a gap doesn’t mean empty

every trace is a treasure to keep

Dream 23

how in the final act I circle the house

Chris at my side, or is she leading? am I

leading? we, no, I, need to put

something to rights, replace something

displaced while up the hill in front of us

great yellow machines scrape & shovel

growling while neighbors carp at the

early morning clamor, no place to park

what reconstruction have I commanded?

how have I come to live at the bottom of

this steep slope where Chris & I flounder

where suddenly Rich, my old dear friend

steps from a car, approaches all at ease

leans in, bewilders me with a kiss

Life Enough

I walk barefooted, bareheaded

a long, broad stretch of sand

death, the ocean, on my left

on my right, my lapsed life

scoured dunes crowned 

by crusts of parched earth

barely grasping skeletal trees

exposed roots, leafless limbs

espaliered against blue sky

I serenade seals who swivel 

sleek rounded heads to listen

five scoters, six or seven seals

terns shriek & dive for worms

plovers pussyfoot toward surf

for more than an hour not

one human, once companions

all gone, what remains is sand

is ocean, are broken shells

waterworn stones, birds, seals

let all these be life enough

lest no more is coming

Of fire, of rain

smell of brimstone

embered midnight sky

is Provincetown burning?

how many blackened souls

rise thru lightning & thunder

wind & pounding rain?

walls shudder

the roof thrums

but where do rabbits go?

robins? chipmunks? jays?

how sure is their shelter?

so many hours to wait

for weather’s ebb

another blue day’s dawn

Chickadee

lands on a branch

not far from me

I turn, I say, I sing 

chickadee-dee-dee

with each repeat 

chickadee flits closer

until she sits, rocking

a foot from my face

chickadee-dee-dee

black eye, black cap

what do you think I am

chickadee-dee-dee

Sketched on a Page

I labor up the hill, sail down

flanked by bees’ yellow shoulders, bent

black heads plunged in dandelion

yellow, brighter than daffodil yellow

bright as yellow crayon steered by fingers

drawing the sun, first the yellow circle

next the flaring rays above a red

house, blue roof, blades of grass

& now the family waves, hello

hello, I wave to them, & here we stay

frozen in motion, now dancing toward

now dancing away, today & tomorrow

we figures sketched on a page — 

hill, bees, child, sun, home