spring poems (Sylva 08)

Fallen Nest

twists of shadows
tangle on the ground
this evening

I vibrate under the moon
in a lunar bliss

the tiny bird eggs
fell on the porch
where I discovered them
broken

they’d made a nest in the
dead Christmas wreath
still hanging from 2 years ago
so it goes—

the creepy yellow guts seeping
from white shells

volumes of lives are broken in this way
and the moon keeps rising
somehow bridging
the chasms we create

and the beaks peck
working on the silvery layers
of our insides
and though there is discord

there is still the milky light
that makes the shadows


chainsaws

someone is using a chainsaw
across the valley
green is emerging from branches

I remember climbing the tall
pines
in Panthertown.

now there is a second chainsaw,
a cacophony of buzzing
a harsh harmony
and the trees are scared