Climate March

It is too late
to undo
the changes:
ice melts,
tornados reap
the mid-west 
fields,
tides rise.

410 millebars
of C02

“Deserts grow”
said Nietzsche 
long ago,
though speaking
of mental
or spiritual
deserts.
The dunes shift.
Winds curl
a fine sand
off the dune’s
crest,
thoughts 
sweat
in slow
unrest

Mowing

Smell 
of cut
grass,
wet,
as crows
fly
toward
a
gray
sky,
and the mower
chokes
clogged.

Clover, mostly
not grass.

A hundred 
days doesn’t get you
what it used to.
This break in the rain
our one chance
with only
rain ahead.
Hard? Listen,
it doesn’t
get easier
from here.

Light

Darkness
is not absence
of—it has
a weight.
It settles
over the shoulders
like a coat.

It presses
against
windows.

Light, rather,
is the absence
of dark.
The morning
is weightless:
all the leaves
and pollen
drift
in sun shaft
without
gravity.
in the light
anyone
can fly

Cipher

Two eagles
nest
by the landfill
(a magnate
for rodents?)
I wish I could
be as enigmatic

as this evening sky

a hermetic code,
a cipher
of eagles
and highways,
of broken limbs
and green,
and of black crows
scattering
before a bluing screen
of a darkening
sky

What can I say?

Is this a poem?
the wind
trembles
through new leaves.
It is cold
and I am
tired.

(Tax cuts
for plutocrats)

Can one
(me)
pull words
from the thinnest
air? What can I
say to
disperse this 
cold spring?
What do I say?
Can this day
sing?

Mistakes

(No winter
wetter,
the archives
concur)
When building space stations,
best not to cloud
facts
with ego.

Bluster
does not matter.

Mistakes
must be owned
and shared
as soon
as discovered;
as with politicians
(most of whom
have never
acknowledged 
this trait)
lives
depend
on it.

Geese

Another day 
splattered 
like rain 
against the windshield. 
The cold breeze 
scuffs 
the brown 
surface 
of puddles. 

Another day 
to work. 

Wild geese 
preen 
under their wings, 
wandering between 
rails, pecking 
at spilled grain. 
A passing train's 
whistle 
startles: 
flying wedge 
against 
gray