The grapes are in bloom. And everything else a child knows, but cannot tell. June 13, 2019 A Little Less Certainty My philosophy? a little less certainty — yes, like a kiss that might never be, so sweet to savor, you see, once in the way and the sway of it, the light and the day and the play of it. Even alone, had you and I known the […]
In 2017, on the tenth day of June, two drawings were made.
I have no other record of that day — unless, perhaps,
I were to go back and examine the month’s bank statement.
If we went anywhere, or spent any money,
I like to think it was for strawberries.
Canvas 921
Canvas 922
[ 417 ]
As much as by touching, reading, and simply having them near, I think any poet would gain by the calm, deliberate practice of describing the scent of old books. To describe, in essence, what can’t be described, and yet must — this is his domain and his charge; to illuminate what is haunting, yet painfully familiar — this is why she was born; and then, when she dies, to haunt […]
Year by year, the neighbor’s irises have crept like a floral glacier across the narrow path I maintain between his yard and our garden. This spring, they were so heavy with blooms, I had to prop them up to keep them from smothering our young tomato plants. It was a beautiful sight — so beautiful that sometime in July, if I am still living, I will dig and divide those […]
The deep voice of a bullfrog — the lilies are so dense, he can cross Goose Lake without touching the water. On the high platform used by the ospreys, the heads of their young can be seen above the edge of their big rugged nest. Three brown rabbits. The cry of a flicker. Fields of daisies. Budding chamomile. In shaded areas, there is one kind of general scent; in sunny […]
All through the neighborhood, I find the wrinkled lips and toothless mouths of decaying iris blooms. Some are still sticky with color, evidence of spring sweets consumed. The evening breeze blows powder from their necks. No one visits. And so they pass, without regret, from glory days to introspection. Time for tea. The blessing of infinity to wise old aunts, so patient with the foolishness of boys and men. June […]
I’ve received nothing but kindness all my days. Every difficulty I’ve suffered was kindness in disguise. The meannesses and cruelties, the deceptive, crooked ways — I give thanks for each of them. And for each that I’ve committed, I leave a flower at its grave. There are some unmarked, some with names. I bow to all, but not in shame. I accept the grief and love the blame. I go […]
To take a lifetime to write it, even when it appears quickly and suddenly on the page.
To discover how deep are its roots, and how bright its leaves.
To see the space around it, the light behind it, and the shadows it casts.
To listen to it breathe.
To marvel at its strength, in a savage and brutal age.
To die for it, if that’s what it takes.
To read through the fire, and write from the grave.
Canvas 1,207 — May 10, 2018
[ 407 ]
In front of his house, near the door,
a neighbor not far from here
has small replicas of the statues on Easter Island.
Every day, I walk a lifetime through the sand to find them.
Among the Ruins — April 16, 2009
Canvas 917 — June 1, 2017
[ 406 ]
Last fall we brought home a small pumpkin and placed it on the front step. It sat out all winter beneath the shelter and remained firm and intact. Finally, earlier this spring, it softened at the bottom. I moved it to a garden spot within a few feet of the front door. It soon gave way in aromatic collapse. Now, in its place, after thinning a densely sprouted mass, there […]
William Michaelian 