April 6

Tomorrow is my friend,

and yesterday,

and will remain

from all the past

and into all that is

future. The house’s

blank hollow and wind

that stores up in

the winter trees

have a mind for

retrieval. That is

what we will call

memory then, when

we have ceased

to know in flesh.

April 5

Even as I close

the door

the room

changes shape

around me

and the night

practices

transformations

into shadows

and shades

as if preparing

for the day

when I will step

into a darkness

of my own

choosing.

April 4

Anyway sound comes through water

is a struggle to be

perceived. Encapsulated in air

that wants to reach

the surface—sounds are

always trying to be heard.

So much of what conducts

also suppresses.

April 3

What do you mean back to nature?

 

 I’ve been there

all winter, and

don’t intend

to leave

any time soon. Some

people might find

it a bit

unnatural

but the back

yard in my

back yard

and in my brain

are where I live and

where I try to

keep myself sane.

April 2

Those who say

a gap in the mind

is empty don’t

know how

it is that nature,

abhorring any

kind of emptiness,

will fill it

immediately

with the most

original

delightful

terrifying

things.

Welcome to Another National Poetry (Writing) Month

It's April, the cruelest month for poets and fools, because many of us try to write a poem a day this month. It's called NaPoWriMo, for short. Here's my first:

Ending

Tell me

how this day

will begin

and if

the juncos gathered

under the feeder

will be leaving

today

for the north

or if winter

will hang

on here

a bit longer

and the juncos

and you

will stay

at least

another day.