Dry January

What actual sacrifice 

would be required

to pencil in 

one more thing 

to the growing 

list of denials?

Just a few more 

words on paper, 

maybe a diagram

showing how all 

things grow from

one dormant seed.

[LSS, 12/31/20]

In The Reading Room

The book didn’t slip to the floor. 

I threw it there with what I had 

intended the other readers 

to see as a lighthearted gesture. 

We all laughed. 

But then the bruises appeared,

and I had to explain to the librarian 

what that book had done to me.

[LSS, 12/31/20]

Bookmark

Only a split second

between letting others 

see you and being 

closed inside a book.

[LSS, 12/31/20]

Zen Hits The Floor

I move books from table to
table, one slips from my hand

a memory rises, I carry
a bucket of hot water, steam
rises in morning winter air

Zen hits the floor.

[RK, 12/31/2020]

Dance Lesson

The hole in the ceiling is a mere distraction 

from the wall that disappeared entirely

from her inner being. 

A new attack of restlessness broke away 

as soon as the loneliest of all the monsters 

failed to grip her.

There must have been some reason the deepest 

black had failed to lodge inside her, maybe 

one of those shells in which she heard 

the sound of the sea and suddenly knew 

exactly what she had been back then,

something rolling, something moving, 

something that danced of its own free will,

white and sparkling, before anyone bothered 

to examine the pieces of her chalk white house.

[LSS, 12/30/20]

Coronavirus #1 (All)

what if all the people who don’t wear masks
just

I’m exhausted from asking if you wore
at all

our quarantine keeps getting extended
when you

I wish everything were otherwise
cannot see

your whatever ignorance does not equal
winning

[RK, 12/29/2020]

Cathartic

I burn the notes beneath
the full moon is a witness

who will act as a character
witness in bland daylight

streaming through morning’s
window cleared of hesitation

before the promises I made

[RK, 12/29/2020]
 
 
Coronavirus #2 (Tick-Tock, Twelve O’Clock)

reactionaries doubt science when it fails
to align with what they already believe

revolutionaries posit herd immunity
before the stampede, during the stampede

both sides of the political spectrum
claim ‘me first’, flaunt self-worth

push against the flow pledging
dichotomies and divisiveness

[RK, 12/29/2020]

Coronavirus #3 (Self Examination)

today’s quarantine is a test
we only pass by being

honest in front of a mirror
that distorting fun house

mirror in your personal
carnival doesn’t count

[RK, 12/29/2020]

Syntactic Atom

I know what she is thinking,

this spider lounging on my lap;

I’m thinking the very same thing:

that this is all there is 

and all there ever was 

and all the two of us 

ever wanted there to be.

[LSS, 12/28/20]

Apt

you reward my patience
with a metaphor, you see
a brown creeper balance
with her tail and
spiral upward

[RK, 12/27/2020]


Feathers

a winter wren flicks her brown finery
a peacock shakes his ass

a bird of paradise leans into
the lek, awaiting consummation

the mouse fails to hear
the owl’s descent

a scissor-tailed flycatcher
does not care what you think

house sparrows overrun
the house

[RK, 12/27/2020]

Ego

la colibrí dazzles
you think: iridescence
the hoatzin pokes you
with vestigial wrist claws

self-esteem is a fragile
part of my temperament
so much of what we are
is created by others

[RK, 12/27/2020]

This Is

not a downward 

spiral

this is 

not a bird

without a tail.

[LSS, 12/27/20]

 

Daylight Constellation 

The doe dancing on her hind legs 

under the winged keys of the maple tree 

and next spring’s twins inside her 

at the center of her balance. 

[LSS, 12/27/20]

Newly-Discovered Constellation

The nuthatches 

and the towhees,

the varied thrushes 

and the wrens.

Just look at them and 

see them before you 

try to remember 

their names.

[LSS, 12/27/20]

Epiphany

I know it is better than “okay”
when I look at it for the first
time in two years and cry.

Two readers put me into a tailspin.
I finally wrote “Fuck You” in my notes
and deleted their shallow
puerile comments. I’m worth
so much more than that.

[RK, 12/27/2020]

How to Draw The Night Sky

Stop before you add

too many stars: that 

would be not only 

greedy, but would lead 

to regret when you fail 

to visit every one.

[LSS, 12/26/20]

The Thing with Feathers

The book flapped open 

in your lap while you 

were lost in dreaming,

grinding your teeth 

on tender sparrows.

[LSS, 12/26/20] 

424

I never thought
it would go this far.
That hummingbird
made quite a scene.
 
I’m bombarded with
rocket acorns,
eking out solace under
a coronavirus mask.
 
The OCDC recedes at a
yellow picnic table
removed from the corner
of fast and busy.

[RK, 12/26/2020]


Bird Note
 
I hear that bird every day
morning chanticleer
afternoon songbird
evening night hawk
night’s owl
 
your words and mine flow 
through different timepipelines 
simultaneously coming
from the same well pen

[RK, 12/26/2020]

A Day in Late December  

You have heard it 

many times before, 

coming from deep 

within the furrows 

of your own bones, 

the grief of winter 

beginning 

its long good-bye.

[LSS, 12/26/20]

Enough

I moved the shelf and
remembered when I was a dealer
with thousands of titles
hauling boxes of books.

Now a single shelf tires me.
I look around at what little
there is and think
too much, too much.

[RK, 12/25/2020]



Day Shift #8

imagine a setting sun
on another planet
in the Goldilocks Zone

this bubble is like that
hospitable and
inhabited by one

[RK, 12/25/2020]



Board Game Tokens

Kitchen cookware, brand new notebooks,
mended rocking chairs, baby photos,
the Encyclopedia Britannica 11^th Edition.

A ring of random keys, scouring grit,
mops, puzzles, lemons and oranges,
condoms, bandages, AAA road maps.

Dice, cards, scoring tabs,
pencils, and calculator
are optional.

[RK, 12/25/2020]

White-Out Poem

and I’m like 

a sentence 

reduced

to a conjunction

probably 

believable

bell-shaped imperfection

opposing 

a fixed circle.

[LSS, 12/25/20]

Viking Funeral for the Companionable Mushrooms

the boat is launched from the shingle
flaming, into the whale’s road
plied with gold intentions and
astrological Venn diagrams
 
scavengers snap up beach umbrellas
ice coolers, and Egyptian cotton towels
entire families applaud the light show
sad forget-me-nots sweep metal detectors and fill
a lost and found box in the ranger’s station

[RK, 12/24/2020]

To Do List #3

The coffee shop placemat says
downsizing leads to enlightenment.

A coronavirus warning says
downsizing leads to recrimination.

My book of hours says
downsizing leads to regret.

“What is six winters? They are quickly gone.” —Richard II

[RK, 12/24/2020]

Iconic Forms

The leaf, the root,

the hand, the heart,

the hermit, the hut, 

the cave, the well, 

the bottomless pit, 

the ladder.

[LSS, 12/24/20] 

The Magpie

he collects shiny objects
in his eyes
tin and cellophane
become diamonds
the intrinsic value means everything
 
he forges convictions into commitment
then withdraws his membership
cuts his finger with a kitchen knife
dips it in salt water
where it shines

[RK, 12.24.2020]
 
 
Vade Mecum

You took down the lights
but the spider eggs still float
in saturated roof gutters
seeking the downspout
release.

That book overflows
with false testaments

and archetypal folk tales.

[RK, 12/24/2020]

You Should Be Careful How You Turn Your Head

you’re not a barn owl
nor a toy top

there are no warranties
for dislocated intentions

[RK, 12/24/2020]

Plush

three weeks ago we passed this way, now
a day like this, only doubled, like any day
and I’ve found new things along the ride
already tried and true, and you and you follow
your dialects trigger illicit warnings

perhaps I know what you will say
or how you will phrase it
perhaps I will reply with bold letters
the hesitant ringing rotary telephone
all else cursive, adamant, almost free

[RK, 12/24/2020]

Lexomancy:  A Nursery Story

The spider in the greenhouse

downspout, its life an endless 

loop, relying on randomly open 

pages in some obscure book 

to create a subtext 

that is easily misconstrued 

for truth.

[LSS, 12/24/20] 

Baroque Painting

Japanese maples 

underplanted beneath 

old-growth cedars

and one dying hemlock.

Nothing is moving. 

And then I see you

harvesting winter 

squash in our garden 

and the landscape

comes alive.

[LSS, 12/24/20]

What Does A Dog Think About?

memories and dreams slip into the afternoon
natural light is always involved
light defines what was, what will be
what might have been, what could be

the day a five-year-old dog
saw landscape ink drawings in a book
watched a tandem rotor helicopter fly away
thrilled to dew on spider webs in morning grass
touched a window screen piled with June bugs
became enmeshed in ceiling monster shadows at night

the day a seven-year-old dog
saw the guiding spirit of all animals
touched altruism and found it lacking in others
wondered if bugs and insects were different
began a playing-with-matches phase

the day a ten-year-old dog
kicked into the world of alpha males
believed becoming President was an option
felt moved by AM pop music
accepted privilege, without thinking, as a birth right

the day a sixteen-year-old dog
tried to establish an identity
failed to perceive the edge of the comfort zone
discovered sex
saw the grail
touched the first identity
discovered the gap between perception and reality

the day a twenty-three-year-old dog
saw a wood alley fence smeared with light

walked along 6^th street under gray skies where the tracks cross

met angels disguised as human beings
noticed the blur between lure and love
quit drinking and became fearful of the world

the day a twenty-five-year-old dog
worked in the art department’s print shop over the winter holidays
resigned to a future of cleaning ink from presses
experienced serendipity
walked into the right art gallery at the right time
missed the road signs and slipped into a comfort zone

the day a thirty-five-year-old dog
retreated to a mountain prairie comfort zone home and studio
lost sight of altruism with the heady rush of land ownership
looked at winter constellations in below zero nights
felt peacefully removed from society and cities

the day a thirty-seven-year-old dog
discovered the gray areas in artistic integrity
watched the comfort zone bubble deflate
peeled off the sticky layer of egoism
took shelter on a rocky ridge over a dry canyon
memorized trees, wind, clouds, the sound of rain
began the true downward spiral

the day a forty-two-year-old dog
returned to school, completed graduate studies
prepared to become an adult
threw away possibilities as the fears returned

the day a forty-nine-year-old dog
downsized five thousand books
gave up hoarding for a cross country flight
arrived still dragging chains forged in life
failed to establish a comfort zone
failed to find a family
failed at becoming an adult
spiraled down while still clinging to altruism

the day a fifty-year-old dog
received a gag birthday card from the neighbors

the day a fifty-five-year-old dog
accepted life
gave up and avoided the struggle
embraced the gray world
kissed the black and white world good-bye
lost all the families
threw away pottery shards and used paint brushes

the day a sixty-year-old dog
retreated while pretending to move forward
fastened on to ephemeral relationships
sat in padmasana for hours, weeks, years
embraced the unembraceable

the day a sixty-two-year-old dog
learned a new trick
pretended personality was enough
failed to win friends and influence people
ate half-baked bread
drank watered down coffee
eschewed chocolate and sweets

the day a sixty-four-year-old dog
felt despondent and childlike
thought about do-it-yourself jobs
thought about investing in tools
thought about making an effort
lacked a family
lacked a core
lacked a family
tried to establish an identity
failed to get enough sleep
tossed and turned
discovered that tomorrow never comes

[RK, 12/24/2020]