sugar maple blues
swaying in the wind
toes tangled in the earth
my wings shake
when I try to fly
but the light
only breaks into patterns that lie
on the ground around me
like fallen birds
listen
never again
amber and russet leaves
whispering this word
never again
branches bending
in these arched ecstasies
dividing the light
into just these dreams
Look at me
you who listen to my keening
and be a little sad
next year if you're here
you'll be different too
indiana road
You can feel the Indiana road unwind
on a bright morning
when you haven't got time for it,
driving to an office where you won't see
farmhouse windows watch each other
blue-eyed across the fields,
or that barn with broken boards
where your gaze meets the sky
like a lover. You try to ignore
the old road ribboning off the highway,
twisting past an unfenced cemetery
curving into a town where you can buy
a carved bed of golden oak, a pocket watch,
a fringed shawl. The road whispers
come see, and there among the trees
is a tall house, Italianate roof,
rusty iron gates, and a hawk, half tame.
But you can't go, though for a long way
you wonder whose face stared at you
so intently through a beveled pane.
