MESA MORNING

Out here, he warned,
you should always be on the lookout
for snakes by day, not that they
will go out of their way to attack you,
but stray into their territory
and the Western Diamondback
will give you a quick lesson in awareness.
They hide among the scrub sage
and in the arroyos, but you still
walk for this kind of beauty
demands your attention regardless.
And at night, he added,
don’t stray too far for the coyotes
wander freely looking for rabbits
and small game, and though you
would be too large a meal,
you’d still be worth a taste.
You are in their home, after all.


For Something Different, a new bird photo each day, visit my other blog:
Bird-of-the-day.com 

THAT MOMENT

There is always that moment
when I stand stock-still,
afraid to move, the poised camera
a lead weight on my hands, arms
emaciated hammocks dangling
from shoulders inviting something
that will not come into focus.

The Great Blue heron, who is the sole
focus of my attention, stares at me,
or through or perhaps past me,
with a patience I try failingly
to emulate, knowing I will
look away, lower the camera, see
an egret, an ibis, someone
who will give me pause, and
the heron will take flight and I
with twitch of finger will capture
that place that she so recently occupied.


For Something Different, a new bird photo each day, visit my other blog:

Bird-of-the-day.com 

RESEARCH

She is a small woman
dressed in white, save for black
platform slingback pumps
and cherry red eyeglass frames.
She hunches forward in her seat
seeming as though she might collapse,
pouring over tables and graphs –
biochemical research papers.
You measure the depth of her attention
by the frequency with which she  pulls
single strands of hair from her banded ponytail,
strokes them gently, then, as if noticing they
have gone astray, tries to tuck them back in.
She pauses this ritual only to annotate
the paper’s margins in mechanical pencil
in a small, cramped hand, barely legible.
You know she has reached the paper’s conclusion
when she strokes that soft space
between those in upper lip
as though a teenage boy hoping
one day soon to grow a mustache.

THE WEIGHT

There is a heaviness to the sky
a weightiness belied
by the gray of the clouds,
even the departing sun
seems to whisper that it
will be replaced by rain in short order.
You feel the weight bearing down,
as the heat of the day dissipates,
and although the first drops
have not yet fallen, you know
that it is best to be within
when the rain begins
for it will do so without warning
and with little care
for your presence,
for this is how Spring
demands your attention.

AFTER

He sits still
demanding your attention.
He stares at you with green eyes
and a defiant look, saying
you are a visitor here,
this is our world
so do not abuse your privilege
of sharing this space with us.
We were here long
before you arrived
and our kind will
be here long after
you depart, although
we do not comprehend
why you always seem
to want to rush
yourself headlong
into extinction.

RED EYE

No matter how hard
you look at maps
you cannot find
that evanescent border
that divides weariness
from exhaustion. You
need no papers to slip across,
no guards or fences will greet you,
you may be well across
before anyone notices.
The return journey
is harder still
for you won’t have marked
your way, and the bramble
of phone calls, the thicket
of absurdities that
demand your attention
will constantly ensnare you.
Still, it is wise to pause
and see where, who are you
are you Schroedinger
or are you the cat.

TEMPUS IN A TEAPOT

If you’ve been paying attention,
you already know that I
have always hated Latin, and not

merely because I never took it, but
because I grew tired of being told
to seize the day. It wasn’t like I

could put a leash on it – time tends
not to remain static, and since it
has no legs, it certainly doesn’t march.

Mostly, it’s all I can do to get through
a day, chasing after it as best I can,
and though I’ll never catch it, I

can follow in its wake, never looking
back or too far forward but never,
ever making haste quickly or otherwise.

BY JOVE

In a Jovian moment
Luna paused her wanderings
and sat patiently above the trees
that stare down on the street.
You know they are speaking, want
very much to listen in
on their conversation, but
the birds are busy singing
their evening songs, and pay
neither moon nor planet
the attention that they are due.
Soon enough Luna recommences
her nightly trek across the sky,
while Jupiter stands still
a moment longer, enjoying
his starring role
in this nights heavenly show.

LUNA BECKONS

The perigee moon
hangs heavily over the city,
clinging to the horizon
as though it wishes to flee
deep into the night,
turning away the attention
in inevitably draws.
We are pulled toward it
by some deeply felt force
that we know we dare not
question, for we must
honor the moon’s secrets
as we hope she will honor ours.