Storm

After midnight

thunder woke us

the tumbling boulders

I remember from my Atlanta childhood

horizon flashes

followed by vertical zigs & zags

thunder so loud

we flinched & hugged

to the sound of rain

light building to heavy

breezes from windows

until we closed them.

Cataracts spilled from the south roof drain.

Spray filled the air

next to the big north window.

I turned back the rug

shifted the power strip & computers

out of the range of weather.

By now the rain pounded

entered beneath the doors

through the gaps 

between walls & window frames

flooded the upstairs floor

leaked through the ceiling into the bookcase.

With rags & buckets

naked we roamed the house

mopped & wiped

& cursed the builders for promising, sí,

mañana they would seal the house.

Finally, the rain diminished

lightning dimmed

thunder spoke softly from a distance.

We opened windows

lay back down in cooler air

& talked until we slept

till morning.

A Common Spider

A common spider

unearthed by my hoe

hauled an awkward

globe of eggs

attached

to a ventral point

on her abdomen. 

She shifted 

no farther 

than a foot away

so not to risk

losing her life’s 

requisite burden. 

Though she stayed 

over an hour 

I noticed

no change. 

Inside the globe

I imagined

egg after egg

crowding 

each to many

while mother released 

what remained

of her load.

Playing the Dozens

          towns that look like pebbles or flushed quail
                                               – Jorge Teillier

parrots that shriek like tickled babies or goosed nuns
horses that pair head to tail like boxed shoes or mannikin feet

beetles that twine in long hair like rope climbers or plastic beads
blond skinks that speckle black like bananas or sand

foxes that scale & rifle garbage bins like urchins or druggies
ducks that dive like high school grades or barnstormers at town fairs

hawks that flock to alfalfa like maggots to meat or geese to golf links
dogs that troll outdoor tables like cigarette girls or deaf mutes

mosquitoes that hover like tour guides or silent farts
owls that guard their nests like nuns their chalk or bankers their loans

toads that pepper the night roads like pinballs or land mines
lyrics that drag on & on like slow downloads or warm-up bands

The Dawn of Summer

These days of half sun, 

half cloud at the dawn of summer 

when cool drops fall from a blue sky, 

the violent spring winds 

at last have died.

Sheets hang motionless, 

at noon pillowcases merely sway 

this Saturday, two more left in December, 

another year 

running out of things to say.

Aware of a noise 

above the vigorous digging of its hole, 

el tucutucu climbs to the top, listens, 

climbs higher & sees me 

working the hose. 

By evening 

northern peaks are lost in fog, 

southerns gray & black

like scenes on Chinese vellum scrolls, 

Andean gods strike & crackle. 

Night sounds: 

snowmelt acapellas along la acequia, 

makes a loop around the pond, 

light rain drums on bricks & sand,

a fox barks at the moon. 

For Real

Fear of presence

is due

to what doesn’t occur

in occupied space:

a fox, curious 

but feral,

a chitin bark

ferried by scarlet wings,

an acapella

shrilled by a burrowing owl 

to warn its hatch, 

fresh rust 

etching the chain

during my bicycle ride.

It’s why 

I stop hearing

human noise

when screeching parrots flock

from vineyard to sky, 

my spirits rise

to join them. 
My fear dissolves.

I fly for real.

This Child, These Tests, These Beginnings

Zoë arrives carrying roses – red

yellow, & pink – burdens that nearly smother

this child – pouting lips, downcast head –

whose shy is sham that lets her test the water.

Zoë wants to plumb all of it, details

large & small, self & Zoë propelled –

dung beetles & rosy stones, balls

of styrofoam pried up by her fingernails, 

a steep slope to the empty pond, a stake 

to pull her body up by, a pile of sand,

small sticks she orders to stand, sticks 

that test her theories of this non-mother land

ruled solely by physics, including her hold

on me as she tightrope-walks my world.