The time change
had me up at dawn, which ordinarily
wouldn’t happen. The orchard
was still soggy, the elk had already been through,
leaving their little Milk Duds.
I missed out on the bears as well, which you’d
think would have depressed me,
considering I was up before the bewildering light.
There were piles of apple-dense scat,
but the hairy goofs hadn’t broken a single bough,
the delicate Baldwins still hanging proud
and innocent. The bears had eaten within
our means and then no doubt napped, each in its lone
And all the roses I mowed down last year
were twining up even in this dryish fall.
I missed my dog’s brisk discoveries,
but I knew he was with friends
racing his joy at the beach.
I didn’t mind the marsh-like stubble;
in fact, I wrote a couplet in my head,
all iambs—it was fantastic—
and I counted out the stresses
on my double front Carhartts
so I could look woodsy
out in the fields.
It had been cold in the night. Someone
left a window open a notch, and I had hoped
my lover would have a hot flash—
she did not—which was joyous
for her, breathing a merely warm gust
on the sheets, so I could
hardly be disappointed.
The light stretches a different glass everywhere.
The morning just as disjunctive as the night.
I swear I was paying attention
to where the shadows fell,
the songbirds, missing for so
many seasons, chirping chirpy chirps.
And the lady next door, I didn’t mind
the unnatural coupling of her horse and donkey.
Aquinas said what is natural for one
can be unnatural for another although
I don’t think he was talking about equines.
Mules are blesséd, too.
Something holy descended on the alders,
the green varied and shone and retired
into the shadows, which I was watching
and, for a moment, nothing bad happened anywhere.
Even the loggers were singing for the page
this poem is on.
Embarrassment comes from the word halter,
did you know?
A guiding voice helps in a fog, but
with nothing left to burn off,
shake that mane. When you’re happy,
it’s your prerogative to be grandiose.