A Still Rocker

Walking to the kitchen I notice
a large part of old age
is trouble moving, my knee

remembers a rock
that didn't have trouble moving,
and the ankle reminds me

of a jump gone bad
in a crunching sound,
and my hair hurts

when I change my mind,
so I sit in a still rocker
and rethink an ancient myth.

Wander Ku

beach grass
climbs a windy dune –
looks for a ride

~

a dusky goose
leaves in the morning
to find one of his own

~

the jade moon
wanders all night
through the garden

~

summer birds leave me
with the winter winds

Picking the Bones

Ancient lizards leave their mark
on the badlands, a trail of prints,
scattered remains, an impression.

Lizard groupies with picks
and canvas hats follow the tracks,
pick the bones, exhibit icons

in a great hall where PhD's gather
with tweed jackets and stem-glasses
full of sixty-five dollars a bottle.

In the badlands the groupies break
for lunch, bring out the beer
and barbeque chicken, three vultures circle.

The groupies pick the bones,
scatter remains, leave their mark,
and the vultures leave a lizard impression.

Teaching Jessie to Drive

Sadie says I can't do anything
with that girl, she listens only
to do the different, and that's why
we're scattering gravel down Jackson Road.

I watch Poor Riley's horses glide
down the fence line and Jessie apologizes
for rattling the potholes hard in Butler Wash.
Jessie turns onto the dry lake

and cuts donuts, we laugh at the dust,
then hike up Parker Ridge and watch the sunset
reflections change on Stillwater Creek.
On the way back I pick up groceries

and a bottle of wine,
Jessie learns cooking from her mom,
she takes time making dinner,
and we take time eating.

The candle burns down, reflections change
on the bottle, Jessie says,
"do I have to go home now?"

Web Ku

a single strand
tickles my cheek –
whither the spider

~

a beach grass tangle
gathers the wind –
a shorebird in and out

~

the trail is paved
with autumn leaves
in sunset colors

~

a feather web enfolds
the black crow

Double Rainbow

Clear skies dry the sage for months
then a rain-cloud parks over Dixie Valley,
a double rainbow arcs over the highway
at the Austin Hillclimb, it's too much

of a good thing, thirteen cars get lost
in the crowd and need a ride home.
Six days of rain fills
the Little Milligan and Shorty George

loses his cabin to a slurry,
Sadie gives him a ride home,
it's too much of a good thing.
Clear skies dry the sage for months,

in the moonlight Shorty George thinks
on a rain cloud over Dixie Valley,
in the morning he packs up and rides
Brandy and Scooter to Windy Ridge

and paints a double rainbow
on the face of Crescent Rock,
he rides west to Carson Meadows
and gets lost in the crowd.

Lighthouse Ku

the Thai waitress
shows the way –
stir-fry sizzles

~

on the rocks
above the beach
a bottle of wine

~

an icy fog
hides the dawn –
winter wren sings

~

moon lights the path
up Fry Canyon –
bat shadows

~

on the horizon
a blinking light –
breakers crash