[from Ruth Stone's In the Dark, Copper Canyon, 2004]
Menty Ears Ago
Menty ears ago the dummer was sappy in my harms
but I was yawning and spawning and twenty.
What tears I let down in my beers of plenty.
What sleet in his goat's beard tickled my sweat.
Not a fret left in its own key, every morning
when we were ferning and fronding and yorning.
On the Dangerous Way
In the white-flocked woods, shy trash,
like trillium. Late snow speckles the raw
mud lots. Big earthmovers rest on their treads;
Archaeopteryx among guinea hens.
Slap of tires on slush and low click of termites
sucking stumps in the great cut forests;
passing methane gas.
Frost billows from a long brotherhood of trucks.
Eyes closed, the Chinese painting unrolls.
Tenuous bridge over mist to mountain;
one hairline path along the precipitous edge.
A single traveler climbs in the blowing snow.
In the Dark