Monday, May 20, 2013

May 14

Fragrant and enormously busy orchard. Scent of apples, lilacs, honey-smelling euphorbia. White clouds in the sky, white flecks on the green, green trail—strawberry flowers or blown apple petals: fruit sooner or later. Warblers in four colors and orioles in PennDOT orange, detouring traffic around their work areas.

Bluebird flits from branch
of blossoms to bonsai jin
dead apples still bear.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

May 7

Home improvement is the death of poetry. Youth sports are the death of poetry. Illness is the death of poetry. Day-old ducks are the death of poetry. Kay Ryan was asked if she thought being Poet Laureate would make it more difficult to write. “No,” she said. “I think it will make it impossible.”

Bowls of spider web
like hammocks strung in the grass:
fairy encampment.