What is That Ticking Sound

it never stops
stopwatch click
watching cumulus (I’ve said it again!) clouds
for inspiration
more of a trigger, impetus, or starting point
tick tick your clock is tops

it never stops
I’ll go all the way to Nova Scotia
one hundred times a day
and it won’t change anything
no one will notice!

I’ll laugh and no one will hear
I’ll cross the channel between
Dartmouth and Halifax
twice a day and the ferry will not notice
water will not notice
security guards will not notice
you of all people will not notice
I will not

[RK, 6/5/21]


Prairie (Summer)

laid out like a hand-woven carpet
lit with blue and gray pinon jays
yellow and black meadowlarks

perpetual snow topped peaks
wind scouring rutted roads
sun-bleached houses, sheds, corral fences
prairie dogs gnawing the roots
of Russian olive seedlings
garden splashes of tenderness

a beautiful Colorado potato beetle
big as a quarter
I shove my hands into mud
pull out new tubers, crisp as apples
pome de terre!
ripe corn and sparrowhawk
hose water pumped from layers above bedrock
flows between rows
a dusting of hillside snow
evaporates in minutes

[RK, 6/5/21]


Prairie (Autumn)

cold days
I harvest green, yellow, purple beans
beets, potatoes, sunchokes
a wheelbarrow of cornstalks
bushels of tomatoes
the house smells of vinegar and dill
moths pollinate sunflower whorls
owls snatch mice, voles, wood rats

jays congregate in fractal flocks
dried grass quivers in the wind
shadows change the colors of the world
the artwork reflects these changes
I change the changing colors
ink tins full of commercial light
the season seeps into me and the etching plates
oxidize, remind me to attend to
each yellow composite, gust, wing

[RK, 6/5/21]


Prairie (Winter)

brown grass stalks jut up from frozen dawns
quiver in the wind
still below the horizon, the sun hits high clouds
red and orange in the darkness
steam rises from buckets of hot water
sagging barbed wire takes on meanings
beyond my understanding, I only
know to look and listen
stillness illuminated by the lack of anything green
how the chill seeps through walls,
layers of clothing, wool socks
down to paintbrushes swirling in cups
of ice water

[RK, 6/5/21]


Prairie (Spring)

the lines between winter and spring shift
I’m growing plants in a sun room
tomatoes flowering when I move them to the ground
strings form grids, plants obediently rise in straight lines
songbirds, snakes, and horned lizards
inevitable grasshoppers, butterfly and moth pollinators

early morning breezes through studio windows and door
the smell of acrylic paint, oil based inks, solvents
contrasts with the prairie’s damp perfume
the contrast between Flagstaff and Phoenix
cement and red fescue, honest clouds and parking meters
the yo-yo effect, an elastic band
connecting me to and pulling me in one direction
hundreds of nighthawks perpetuate
a crepuscular afternoon sky

[RK, 6/5/21]