Dry season


I've read and written
all this long afternoon
Drought seems forever

I know flood waters lie
over tops of bushes
in desert places

I try to believe
a city by the sea
can soak rain

into her bones
when winter come

A Reply

Williams spoke
of a woman’s world
of crossed sticks stopping
thought
I wondered
(thinking it quite
probable)
if a woman
had painted
that wheelbarrow


Entry
Wind hides
and seeks out every hollow
counts crevices
tormenting through cracks


Wind whirls
the white and bitter winter
into October

Blind
hot wind of summer
picks up the field
driving black
dust across the house yard
into the kitchen
into the mind

Into the mind
wind marks
off days and nights
Land burned
and scarred an angry
lonely wind
driving a continent
to the distant sea



Waiting

I taste dandelion leaves
touch shapes of milkweed
and smooth rounds
of early mushrooms
learn to leave the poisoned

Count off fence posts
hear the hum
of a thousand voices
singing through the wires

I whistle through split grass
and blow seeds
into next summer

Caterpillar winds
up
a sturdy stem
I can count
his jewelled spots

Later
much later
I curl tired toes into the new grass

Sit with me for a while

This mountain
will
disappear