NEIGHBOR

Last year on this day the snow was quite deep,
the wind sealed our front porch balusters in
alabaster cold; we stood face to face
in front of our homes, over the white hills
a wave of a hand, a husky hello
where when green, rarely a warm weather
greeting is given. This one is a high
heavy snow, old man. Nearly four score still
tall and tough he smiles and shovels the snow
that since this dawn has broken two men,
two who were younger. He would fall straight
into his shadow, down into a drift,
a face soon masked blue, the spot of snot on
the tip of his nose, freezing fast to the
skin,  grim mouth begging  for breath, a little
spittle leaks as he leans, seeps out around
the wet brown smoke clenched like a cork between
the sturdy old teeth. Slipping back into
the warm room I wait, thinking about his wife
who cooks too much with condiments, onions,
other aromatics, and being jealous
for her odors, for her curtains and cloth
sends him out early to clear them their path,
to bathe his breath in the first of the day’s
vile dark cigars

FRIENDS 

Down in the hollow where light hides
everywhere among the mute and
motionless trees, we are followed
by old friends from other days,
now behind the empty elms   
their silence stings like the slap
of a branch; I am as quiet as
they and wonder how it is
that we have grown this quiet
together, we who in our corpulent
youth were loud and noise abounded
in the high clearings as we
gathered.  Now with our parchment skin
folded unevenly, dryly draped over our
bones we have become so very quiet.
Down in the hollow where light hides
conversations are conjured up from
greenery, but we still do not speak.
I could call you out from under
sycamores and share all the
conversations that are held in
our  hearts, but still we do not speak.
Down in the hollow where light hides
everywhere among mute trees
we have learned to be strangers
when once there was a rich thick air
between us; there was a time
when our bonds were unspoken,
now we simply do not speak.

LAKE SONG

standing at the water’s edge
leaning against the night breeze
            taut as harp strings for balance,
sighs the only sound lost,
out of phase with the pattern
of waves,  heartfelt harmonics
roll toward me with a ribbon
            of moon glow tossed casually
across the ripples, falling
loosely at my feet; I walk
away without looking back
and  reach down to pull the slack
out of the light as I go.