Sonnet #60

The world is known through sense and wit

For wits must make the sense of worlds

When all the fragments of the real swirl

into our neurology, there's so much data to it

Most of what we must believe is true

Is part of stories about who we are

Where we are going, why it must bear

remembered ways of being, somehow new,

Tell the best of stories about the truth

Tell the most amazing stories to each other

Talk of a universal love, a vibrating tooth

at the birth of the universe, how brothers

and sisters walk in peace to go to voting booths

And seek the sacred symbols from fathers and mothers

Sonnet #59

Before there was the highway there were trains

That cut a bloody path across the continent

Conestoga wagons like ships across the plains

Trailed campfires, carcasses, and gravemark indents

Before the wagon was the precious pony ridden

Ride out into the black and naked mountains

Where before the horse was only moccasins

Naked feet, and cougar paws -- dinosaur remains

Before there were the dinosaurs, the rivers ran

Amphibious creatures crawled and jumped aground

Before the frogs and mudskippers, no man

had ever come this way before, no other sound

Drive your highways if you must to meet him

But no highway keeps the centuries -- wheels spin

Sonnet #58

The greatest mystery of pomegranates

When is the fruit come ripe for picking?

For months they hang like planets

Red and crowned and thickening, thickening

Blooms remembered, they were fairy dresses

Red for the queen, yellow for the sun

After the party, the ripeness of caresses

The swelling weight pulls branches down

Is she done? Is she ever going to be done?

Can I be so bold as to pluck a sweet fruit?

Wait until autumn, she says, my fruit will come

When my leaves give up their last refute

I know, once cracked, she's kin to fairy toads

The way the eggs all bunch, and burst at goad

Sonnet #57

Lost dogs, lost dogs, they don't know how to go on
For what's use of dogs alone upon the boulevard
Perhaps upon a time they were wolves in packs, strong
Imagine their surprise to be alone, to stand it hard

I knew a woman once so lost in debt and pain
She stepped into a sidewalk, raised a thumb and left
She said it was her calling to travel and abstain
From all the futures all her debt was built to heft

Abandoned ones, they are too heartbroken to why discern
They walk the streets and forests to return what's lost
Aged five years in five months, her skin was burned
Leave out a bowl of clean, safe water, and the cost

of it all was counted against all abandonments
Walk tough from the houses, set loose all the hounds

Sonnet #56

We will all die; before we do, let's eat
and act like we belong together at
the table in the restaurant, we seem to've sat
among a crowd of strangers, while the seat
was kept unsat upon for only us, so dine
on every morsel that arrives from the back
And drink all the wine 'til we've emptied the rack
We will all die; before we do, recline
into the moonlight, capture meanbeams, laughing
at the hideous faces that look down from on high
The squinting of stars, the clouds chafing
Wait for the sunrise at least once on a beach, sigh
waves, dance to their sigh, stay awake, baffling
all reason, together tonight, for we will all die.

Sonnet #55

I imagine brains are malleable things that grow

Into whatever shape we make of them, like muscles

twist and swell if exercised, and hearts clear through

or clench, depending on how we live. We wrestle

in knots where what we do is who we are

Eventually; what we feel is the way we know.

A thousand years from now, the deer will stare

into the television screens. They took our town

The sturdy doors, the walls and fences warped

Their hooves and backs into a bent up shape

They breed to barricades, training fawns, and sharp

The preening antlers rise above the frame of ape

The boundaries we build ourselves will hold

Any brain to come behind to share our mold

Sonnet #54

...and how I suffer, Lord? You say I do
not know the meaning of the term
My belly full, my bed so soft, I go
to doctors when I'm hurt.
                                         I squirm
inside my jaw, my neurons twist, my heart
beats black and feels like void, but no
I do not suffer. It is passing, merely part
Of what we mean to make our soul Your boat
And contemplate the mysteries You make
Of what we're told to want in life
And what we're told that it will take
And how these twins are liars, laughing strife
And so, I do not think I feel much pain
It's only summer storms, some mud, wet stains

Sonnet #53

For days it rained, the dragon flower pushed
out from the vine, a swelling dress of feathers
Fire tinged the edges, red and yellow, better
watch it grow, the bloom will burst all rushed.
It only sings an evening, bursting tresses
Scenting out a perfume for the night moths
The long tongues of petal, stamen, wroth
at us for daring dragon blooms with our caresses
The fleeting beauty of the dragon, one night
It sinks and rots away and swells the egg

The mayflies come in spring and fly three nights
They spent so much of life trapped dirt and beg
To swim into the sky to chase the light
And fall a burned out husk, a shell, a peg

Sonnet #52

How strange it must be to be a citrus tree
So far from the mountains of Korea and China
Where they say the species came to be
The trees don't hold to a mecca or medina
They don't pass stories down, face east
And remember the hills, the community,
There are no immigrant stories, no beasts
That haunt their mythologies, just seeds
That know enough to grow, they grip the ground
And wherever they land, they lack familiars
The song of the flower, the roots spreading mounds
All known companions sought, unfound, no conciliars
No single prophet risen to speak of mountains
lost trees awake in orchard rows like muted islands

Sonnet #51

The Word of God is silence, can you hear it?

It is the hum of blood, a windless day, a buzz

below the threshold of the ear, because

all the movement and the heat, how we sit

on the back porch, listen as the late summer

sun that's beating down the trees and bodies

All of it's a shivering echo of a threnody

Sung when every piece of star was smaller

Than the eyes that search out for the source;

After that word spoken, what need for prophets

There are flowers in the fields, blood laughters, 

songs in twilight among all gardens, and what of it?

Can't silence also have a volume rising hoarse

these ripples of a silent shout, strain to hear it?

Sonnet #50

In the morning, I look myself in the mirror,

Brush the night grime from my teeth and gums,

I lean in close enough to see my eyes clearer,

without my glasses on. As close as I come,

As blind as I am, I could smell his breath

if he had any. Feel grateful for each gray hair

I came to my graying honestly, no wealth

came to me, but my health is fine, my stare

into my own eyes reminds me I am not

dead, I am not pretty, I am an echo of the mighty

whose birthright was to stand, but I am not

mighty. I am father's face, my mother's eyes

Let me see this man I am, let me call him out

Each morning accept myself enough, a daily rout 

Sonnet #49

I only have so many f***s to give,
So hurry up and gather what you may
I'm completely out, as well, of s***s to give
There's flying f***s  backordered, but they will stay
in shipment for some time. My f***s come slow,
And in the mean time, these my final f***s
On shelves, in jars, and places you well know,
fair few are left so come and gather quickly
From these, my f***s remaining; I insist
You do not linger browsing thickly
When every moment is an opportunity lost
To gather up my f***s, as many as you can stow
Make your selections of my f***s, and f***ing go

Sonnet #48

The vine is a parasite of light
It climbs across above and over all
It places weight on victims blocking sight
Carry me brother i am sore sprawled
The tendrils thicken turn and quicken
Brother I thank you now my serpent tongues
Hold fast and tight and squeeze my stalk thickens
By your aid, we are better together, our bones
Belong as one, and all the glory that I build
Is upon this giant's shoulder, by no intent
My leaves and roots do what they will
I am so thirsty, brother, until seed is spent
Stout oak, swift hackberry, proud pecan trees
Patiently waiting for the rot of limb and leaves

Sonnet #47

The first that lives forever will be not me

or you, or any one of homo sapien

We try things out in rodents, monkeys

There will be immortal capuchin

Ten thousand years from now the dog

Will pass down, in families, bleary-eyed

Forgetful creature, living in a fog

of smells familiar, memories all keyed

unto the dawn of time, no truth spun

Which memory is real, a bowl of food

A bowl of water, a field in which to run

Friends, all vaguely known, a boy that's good

Ten thousand years, or more, the rat

The dog, the monkeys and apes, the cat

Sonnet #46

I never wonder where the rain will fall

When the clouds gather, there is rain

There's space between one drop; the stain

of water on the ground will splash to all.

Of course there's space between the drops

Some places struck, some not, the mist of it

Will miss some minute specks of silt

Along the wall, but when the rain stops

It's hard to tell where one drop fell upon a wall

When the rain comes, we all get wet, all

Even with the umbrellas, galoshes, no props

will keep the cloud of spattering. Even now,

I feel the humid steam upon the windows

Sonnet #45

Because poets never sing of butchering I don't
Know the way to carve a deer safely,
Pull out its guts and organs, break the joints
I don't know how to collect the blood humanely
When the pig is slaughtered, poets don't sing
Of stuffing geese with grain and a funnel
Until the moment the liver is about to cringe
We learn of the garden in poems, of heaven and hell
The only slaughtering in Odysseus was sacrifice
How to feed blood to ghosts. The rest was war
And kingdom management, and curses and vice:
There was an orchard, though, how to plant one, for
a river runs through it, there are little hills for trees
A gentle slope, runnels for dunging and flowers for bees

Sonnet #44

The birds will eat all seeds and fruit
They will because they're hungry, there.
They eat the insects, too. Hunger suits
them, all that energy expended in a hover
We put the nets over the grapes and berries
They dive into the crevices. We hang foil
to shine at them, old CDs, for glaring
light to scare them, put up scarecrow owls...

I cannot blame them, though, their hunger
is the curse that haunts us all, and fear
will drive us all to stones. When younger
they looked to endless blue, drear
emptiness devouring, screaming needs and wants
Grown birds push back the empty sky with cantos

Sonnet #43

Water, water, everywhere, and all of it to drink
The miracles of modern science, water
Is a wonder. Turn the spigot in the sink
Clean water comes, on command, what better
miracle is there in desert plains like this
Cities dig deep wells, send long pipes
We build dams, erect industrial processes
So that water comes, and we can snipe
about the cost, if we want to, but
we must never forget we're griping
a social miracle: it could dry up
It could turn orange and rust as piping
rusts in industrial waste, clogs up like treacle,
Work together, earn these everyday miracles.

Sonnet #42

I don't believe a person can be born again

The trees can. Take a clipping, dip in hormone

Place in soil, soon the roots descend

The leaves push through, the tree, reborn,

Is ready to rise above the fields anew

Anywhere new. Underground the roots

Recognize themself, mine together through

each other, rise one soul, two shoots

You cannot yet take fingers of flesh

Place them in a womb, expect new life

No false watery grave, no ceremonial mesh

No battlefield or epiphanic strife

We remain our old selves, harder, scarred;

With some survival, maybe riper for the churchyard 

Sonnet #41

We do not know the ecosystems at our door

We only know the story that we see, there

Suburbia, a nice, safe place, clean yards, fear

exists here, though. The ants, the cats, the gore

of the hunt: We live in a forest, we just decide 

the trees and shrubs that pull the creatures to us

Our lost pets go wild, our poisons clear wide

swathes of niches ripe for colonization, abide

all you want picking at inches tall of grass

By night, the cats will hunt, the rats will run

The ants will build their fortresses in loosened soil

The birds pass through, the squirrels, possums,

coyotes, deer, all the marginal things will toil

Another meal from sidewalks. They come.

Sonnet #40

A fledgling bird had fallen in the garden
Exhausted in the heat, uncertain wings
Ecstatic flock of grackles shouted things
Hideous encouragement for their child, then
the dog noticed, ran over barking, sniffing
She did not kill, just sniff, "What is that"
What is that?" and I pulled her back at
once, the frightened, weary, bleary fledgling
Raced into the lavender. Keep calling dogs
Away, away, keep calling dogs away, away
Rest a moment, the grackle synagogue
Will wait to lead you home when ready
They have come to help, a hundred strong
From the powerlines, shouting your salvation: Fly

Sonnet #39

We are told the key to life is simply this:
Acquire, acquire, all that you desire
When you are done, throw it in a fire
There's nothing wrong with this, I guess,
What I am saying is that I am supposed
to tell you that you are wrong to oppose
The spiritual, from we that seek to subsist
Who is to say? But are you happy with it?
If you're happy, if you're really happy
Then chase consumption, keep it
We will die someday, best die happy
For me, the weight of ownership
Is the pull to become a ghost, unhappy
An attachment to the accumulated
That's why the fire: burn, dance, abandoning

Sonnet #38

Who looked upon the bitter sand between
the rivers and said, this the place where palaces
of men will rise to scratch the cloudy places?
I think not one but many had this dream
Every brick was an imagining by one
Upon another, all dreaming together
The houses almost made, accept each other
in the shadows of what was decided, done
At night, when buildings' shadows stretch
like cemetery plots below the tombs
the shadows of what could have been come
through, just a little. The people stitch
The spirit of a town out of the ghosts
Of what was almost made and what was lost

Sonnet #37

Of course you consider your voice pedestrian
You hear it everyday, use it for everything
The same words you whisper to your librarian
Make a list under your breath, talk to children
About the chores, have you eaten, how was the day?
Of course, this voice, to you, is tedium
You know it all too well, who is to say
The way you speak can't echo down and echo deep

Here is how we work: There is no play
Where every actress doesn't think she is a fool
Putting on another woman's dress, her make-up
Playing pretend. She feels so odd. She'll be called out
and everyone will think she's a fraud.
                                                             Take up
your courage, and take the stage, anyway.
                                                                    Shout.

Sonnet #36

What else can democratize us like chronic

pain? The ones who feel it know the truth

of tired, aching joints and loosening tooth

The fear that it will get worse, we're sick

All of us, to death, eventually, and pain

is like the string around the finger: remember

remember, the coming of bleak december

It changes our days, the way we seek friends

or deny them, ashamed to admit our fragility

For some it hardens them like knives of death

It is coming, nothing matters, stand hard, sterility.

Others say the hurt reminds us there is no wealth

No peace, nothing, but to ease the pain, and empathy.

These, the two tribes that rise for the commonwealth.

Sonnet #35

A met a zen master, once, who praised
The daily chore of making dishes clean
He did this task by hand, he prayed
while he worked, to the beauty of creation
Be in that moment, where what we ate
What entered our bodies to preserve us
Now is what's left, the dirty pots, the plates
Still carry the textures, the smells, plus
there's the soap, the water hot and cold
The wonder of all those different senses
Engaged, the physical act of making clean
Wiping everything clean, all that is spent
All that is saved, all that is felt but unseen
Every sense engaged, night coming soon
Be in that moment, alone in that room.

Sonnet #34

These are all the reasons that I adore

Sunflowers: First, the plant is quick

post-frost to grow into a towering spire;

Second, the root is burly thick

It digs a mine and punches down

Veracity will rise; Third, the bloom

before it blossoms gazes following the sun

As if to build a mirror to the holiest and swoon

When it faints, complete, a weeping beauty

Seeds the shape of teardrops, surrendering

to duty; Fourth, the rotting comes, grey and sooty

Mold climbs up and through, devouring

Where roots dug low, the worms appear

the stalks remain, as cemetery spears

Sonnet #33

There's a dream that comes at night,

Where demons come to take from me

My imagination holds a feathered light

The monsters cackle, sets it free

They have new faces every time,

Last night it was a Viking God,

A twisted mask of wood and bone

Sometimes they're bears, feral, broad

Other times, they're birds of pecked fruit

But always slipping out with something

Cackling, gloating, dancing, endless hoots

When I wake, I recall only theft, not the thing.

What is stolen? I don't know - as if it's never 

real, a hole in hope, a dreamscape of a sever.

Sonnet #32

We used to write for pleasure, then for glory
We wrote to live forever as achitecure inspires;
As generals and warrior kings only live inside a story
And the poet's name will sing above the hearthfire.

We used to write for money, too, in fact
The little slips of paper in the post
The clear demarcabfuscation via contracts
A little check for beer or baby clothes

We wrote these letters to history and time
We wrote to speak the god inside of all
We wrote all sins to heal them in a rhyme
To rebuild what was possible from falls

Foolish we, for robots hunt as firebirds
Malware, spyware, spiders eat our words

Sonnet #31

Someday I hope to be the man my dog
Believes that I am. The way she looks
At me is what a pilgrim sees in fog
Around a priestly vestment. I took
her from a place where she had friends
She never minded, though; we are blood tribe
A dog will die for a man, a dog will stand
Upon his grave and wait for him to rise

The cat, instead, reminds us we are not
The person that our dog will always see
The cat meows incessantly to spot
The peasant in a giant's skin and feet.

I hope to be the man my dog believes
I also think the cat is true to me.

Sonnet #30

Spider, spider, trapped in my tub,
I do not know what dropped you here,
Where your nimble limbs can't lift you up
The porcelain too smooth, I fear.
In general terms, I do not hate your kind
I value all that lives and eats of vermin
But, the stripes upon your back incline
Me to suspect you're full of poison
I wish we had not met like this
Out in a field, I'd watch you hunt
I'd cheer you on, but here it is
A broom, allow me to be blunt,
A monster in the field is cheered along
Monsters in my bathtub do not live long.