Ceaseless

I dream that I might have taken
better care. I might have bought
the entire box of jasper
from the young man
in the Dominican Republic
and scattered the pieces on multiple altars,
which I did not,
and will not ever.

Fullness

Blue streams,
Heron
On one leg,
The silt is moving
Like a rush of
Silvery fish.

The river is green.
The land is green.

Windsong

Little do I know.
Little more do you know,
But together we try.
What more can one ask?
If yesterday you wore white shoes,
I observed the tracks you made
On the floor, the bits of grass,
The stubble of sand.
We often dream of the beach,
Beaches with shells to gather,
As if we were wearing aprons
And could scoop all that we find
Into our bellies and then spit
Them out after we are home
Comforted by the breeze
Coming in through back doors
Open with their screens propped shut
To keep out wasps and vagrant birds.