Yesterday did not become a poem

Nothing became something else;
No thoughts filled my head
With wonder or wisdom.
Listless sky. Jumbled frames.
Fleeting images:
Chattering squirrels,
Distant rumbling
Of rush hour traffic.
Today I am more determined,
But all that is left
Is the promise
Of tomorrow.

How do I know

what I know?
The sharp angles
of this simple cottage
perfected
in every board sawn,
shingle split
and beam hewn
into place
goes together
placed, splined,
slid together,
bound more
by intuition
than knowing.

In the unfolding chores

The day sometimes slip away from me,
a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard,
the kids old tree fort cut into slabs,
a ton of coal waiting to be moved
in a train of buckets
to the bin.

Sipping cold water on the back deck
I hear Emma rustling for soccer cleats
and singing some country song,
probably hoping I will remember
that her part of the day
is also mine…

A Priori

A Priori

How do I know
what I know?
The sharp angles
of this simple cottage
perfected 
in every board sawn,
shingle split
and beam hewn
into place
goes together
placed, splined,
slid together,
bound more
by intuition
than knowing.

Chores

The day sometimes slip away from me,
a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard,
the kids old tree fort cut into slabs,
a ton of coal waiting to be moved
in a train of buckets
to the bin.

Sipping cold water on the back deck,
sharpening the dulled teeth
of a worn chainsaw,

I hear Emma rustling for soccer cleats
and singing some country song,
probably hoping I will remember
that her part of the day
is also mine…

The Tide

The Tide

They are building a world
and the plastic is fading:
Margaret and Eddie’s
buckets are split,
pouring out the warm Atlantic
as they race
along the tidal flat,
filling pools connected
by frantically dug canals.

Tommy squats naked
and screams in guttural joy
at the solitary horseshoe crab
donated by a stranger
with a large belly
and a huge smile.

Charlie thrashes through the shallows
chasing crabs
and impossible minnows.

Emma is happy
to let only the wind
fill her net.

Pipo steps warily
and warns us sternly
in his broken English
to anticipate the massive toad
lurking in the undertow.

Kaleigh stands far away
toes lapped
by the edge of gravity.

She is almost a teenager.
I see her
framed in a setting sun,
stretching out her arms,
holding back
the inevitable tide.

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