In the interim, here are a few lines from his lost and somewhat indolent Summer.
* * *
Two brownies alight
at the ashcan near me
Soundless weightless sprites
The lightness of childhood
in June
In sunlight between trees
Up there at this late hour
The rest sinks into deepest green
The nimbus of a squirrel's tail
catches a ray of sun
Crossing a cool glade
on a telephone line
* * *
on a distant hillside
an area still in sunlight
like an unreachable blessed state
an alternative day
floating over the town unaware
the town afloat in fog
a saber-tooth fog
in this never-warm summer
moments when the jewel-like
pepper tree moves in the light
bees coming and going
as seen through a panel of antique lace
hung-up in my tree-house window
receding into the monochrome
gray-green of the overcast world
timelessness the elongated dusk
* * *
asleep but where am I?
gradually zero-in on myself
dozing in a chair in my new pad
jazz drum solo on the radio
* * *
awake at some small hour
look out my new window
as a lone raccoon crosses McGee
backing up even as he walks forward
so sensitive, so cautious
* * *
Turkey in the Straw
chill sunday evening
pink ice cream truck jingles by
no children outdoors
* * *
skeins of clouds
cascade over the gate
break free of the vast
impending fog glacier
and form ghost columns
marching over the still sunny bay
others embody free white sprites
that lead on the immense onslaught
somnolent vales brace themselves as
on come the clouds the cold the night
* * *
a thought that life was over
a cloud skull
turns into a clown
* * *
Berkeley Marina
a hundred boats at rest
no one on them
the sound of the freeway
almost far enough away
to the westernmost point
choral wind in a dense pine
seagulls in cinemascope
sound like rusty hinges
distant fog hovers at the gate
kites never stop pulling
strollers are whisked off
in the wordless wind
in the orchestral quietude
* * *
a line of sailboats scoots
this way across the bay
fleeing a thick marine layer
disappearing into it
* * *
Notes on an Old Dark House
The house cat sleeps out back and is owned by no one
with no fixed name
A dozen years old he has exquisite articulated markings
on his pangolin jacket
He wears a stark white waist coat after dark
lurking behind flowers hidden by leaves
At the far end of the gourdy garden
on ground strewn with straw
He takes a drink from a child's wading pool
under jupiter so brilliant and near
In the pantry a ghost moves one afternoon
shifts imperceptibly as I pass
like a ripple in a mirror
A moth enters in the window
in tranquil night time
Wings turn red on the lamp-lit wall
by the red smoking sign
An early land grant haunting
a house built of old growth trees
Vertiginous windows over the treetops
roof-top mammals look back in at me
Older arbors arch into the maxfield parish sky
the magazine sunset over the sea
Planets and the moon revolve this way
over the yellow hills, over my green green bed
* * *
low sunlight on trees
in front of the dark fog bank
hyper reality
* * *
Stars come into my bedroom
I can't keep them out
film loop of jupiter
* * *
Garden Rhapsody
dragonflies sew my eyelashes shut,
bees venture deeply into my ear canal,
lady bugs decorate my loincloth,
earthworms emigrate into my night soil,
spiders bind my ankles to hoist me perpendicular,
grasshoppers make me jumpy,
infinitesimal ants explore every inch,
butterflies alight on my lips,
clapping their powdery wings
they mock my every utterance
* * *
crows bum rush the sky
flying motorcycle gang
black leather feathers
* * *
