pigeon shoot take one

as soon as jacob got the 'go ahead,' he went:

steadying his aim on the barn's beam, raising

the gun, bringing down one of the many pigeons

that roost up in the eves, 

over our tractors,

over our tools. 

if i were alone with a pigeon that just

fell, single gems of blood which clumped

and beaded in the dust of the ground,

i would have spread out its wings 

in desperation and naivety, smoothed

and soothed its neck feathers, and placed

the bird somewhere in tall grass, to be 

found later by sankanac's cats, by tamed tigers.

rather, i wiped my nose and witnessed others

spring into action, elbows, forming Vs with

nails on chunks of raised wood, finding axe,

finding the head between two fingers,

finding a bag and the freezer, finding everything

ruffled, rumpled, nothing smooth, only finished.

groundhog fever

twenty bucks for a groundhog trapped,

thirty, if skinned.

i ride my bicycle past the green house over gravel,

sand, and thursday's percolated rain,

to check my trap of chickweed and chard:

green, yellow, pink stalks of deceit.

there's no sign of interest, only fresh claw

marks from the mound of earth by

the thin birch tree, by the creek, below the garden.

twenty bucks would buy me new toothpaste,

vanilla ice cream, two kiwis.

thirty, goodness knows.

every day i've waved and greeted the groundhogs.

these hands that hello now are

setting traps,

rearranging temptation.

so a cowboy walks into a bar and says...

sometimes working in the garden feels like going to a costume party

l.s. mother, upon hearing of his day trip to philadelphia,

instructed l.s. to wear 'sunglasses and a large hat.'

no one told me to wear mine, except the voices of reason and softness' sake.

'light is more important than the lantern'

nizar qabbani

but continue to hold it carefully!

for a careless swing will knock both

light and lantern out of your hands

and then you'll be singing of darkness

and the even more important empty

a visit to my old friend

she and i have spent some time together.

i think that if i lived with her, i'd daily

invite myself onto her lap to eat a sandwich.

as it is, i only pause, eat at my knees with my fingers,

and find my body in her body, well fed, rested.

building

she wakes to the image of two plastic lego blocks,

one yellow and one blue, placed perpendicular to one

another, slotted, building not up but beside.

this is what she thinks of: constructs, monads.

seeds germinating in the greenhouse, birds.

news and newness, the crossword before words,

the morning after a good night sleep, the first in

a bed, her bed, her room, with all its funny angles.

and she angles her perspective so that triangles

become rectangles, have corners for which she

can place beside one another and fill in the

current vacancies of space, of synapse.

so she wakes and crowds her moment with the

cement between the bricks, the gaps above, 

below her now.

snow hare

that's all really that needs to be seen:

it's all ears, eyes and seeking