Wind Song: An Epitaph For Lorine Niedecker

There’s a livelier sheen on the dead 
Leaves of autumn than in a dullard’s 
Air and oft Lorine had seen it there. 

Quintessentially Human Defense Mechanism

That small 
Black-and-white 
Cur curled up 
Like a cinnamon 
Roll on a thread- 
Bare throw rug in 

Front of this 
Baker’s doorway 
Day and night come 
Rain, sleet or snow, 
Don’t tell me that 
He’s not like 

All those other poor 
Souls you think don’t 
Know any better than 
To come in from 
The cold—he doesn’t 
Know that. 

Hail and Farewell To Fair-Weather Friends

Adieu, adieu, you too 
Facile, two-timing 

Fickle near rhymes, too— 
I always felt deep down 

You were too close, 
Too good to be true. 

Crepuscular Perambulating Septuagenarian

Ruminating towards end 
Of day, approaching

Olive grove full of wrinkles 
And furrows, cicadas drumming 

Their delirious ancient song well 
Into the night, leaving 

Everything plain as day!

Finding The Rightful Road To Being What You Eat

Pilgrim— 
Break your bread so 
As to nourish yourself 
Accordingly—you may begin 

By straightaway feeding 
Your vanity less 
And eating humble 
Pie to surfeit.