night suspends its tent,
old moths-eaten sky
a mile up, a world wide

that farmlight too is gone,
blinked out in the dip of road
between hilllocks

taking father’s key
from where I know
it’s hidden
I let myself in
do the dishes
while waiting
for his return

stages

told what to change into
before mom and dad let us leave

begging mom and dad to change
and go out with them ashamed

wearing sunday best
anytime we see our parents

telling our kids what to change into
before we can go and see nana and pop

Forest Refuge

Pass trunk to trunk
your movements, a pulse
of an organelle in the forest cell.
The bars of the conifer grove
denote home. The fibrous
living welcome mats are beneath
your feet, they reach for miles,
tangling over and under themselves.
They, up the twigs, are an extension
of your own vascular system. You
are among only safe kin here. Stretch,
spread your back, unfasten
the hook and eye that clasps
your shoulder blades.
Let your fingertips reach
with the layered limbs
their horizons extend yours.
Lean your back against the scratch
of vertical bark. Know home
in the aromatherapy of pine gum,
lay yourself down on the damp dawn
a bed of needles that cannot pierce,
cannot mend or weave or work, only be,
only smooth your brow. Even as
you wipe your hands of them and
would leave, they press themselves
like creased pins of dollars into your hands
their polished red imprints in your palms
wishing you only the best, safe trip
soon return.

frozen strawberries
set out in the A/C and sun
grow Santa Claus beards

Copse

I pass trunk to trunk with a rhythm
like a pulse, pine gum on my legs
I sit on a damp orange bed of needles
spread my back against vertical bark
I am held by the conifer grove
feel secure to know that the roots
spread under me to the horizon
that I am contained in the depth
of layered limbs which stretch out
beyond me as I am one cell,
my positive ions exchanged
for ever new air and skin.