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Seven Sundays

BAJA

BAJA

for Harry

I AM THE DEAD COYOTE ON THE
ASPHALT
with my head turned back in glee.
I am the osprey nesting
on the road sign.
I am the eagle roosting
on a cactus tree.
I'm
whatever
the wind turns up to see.

Baja, Mexico

THE CREATURE

THE CREATURE

I CANNOT SEE THE FRIGHTENED
RAT BENEATH THE TRASH
BIN.
The kids
scream
laughter, throw plaster
chunks,
and
jiggle
the
huge
box.
I
know
what
he
feels
(warm, trembling meat)
and
I
feel
for
him.
TWIN PEAKS

TWIN PEAKS

THE ORANGE FIRE OF SUNSET
BEHIND THE BLACKNESS
of the treetrunks
gleams
as a fireplace;
and the golden lace
of windows
ornaments the peaks.
On
the ocean
there's darkness
like frozen smoke
in lightness
universes.
Yet it's all
as gentle
as a baby's smile.
Sparrow hawks sleep
in the creaking
branches

WATCHING THE VULTURE

WATCHING THE VULTURE
Drake's Bay

I'M TOO CLEVER NOT TO GO ON LIVING!
BUT
the star bursts
from my brain
like a silver blaze.
I'M
TOO
SLY
not to know
that gliding vulture
is the flow
of the biomass
hurled out to feast
on the spreading yeast
of itself.
We are all incredible
sculptures of molecules!
I stand here like a raccoon
on the asphalt
hearing the voices of ravens
--- and I blink in the sun.
The meal has just begun.
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