The Ease of Being

To have a view of the sky this year of all years

in the eye of a played-out hurricane. With the ease

of being, the wind now goes another way.

To have an ear that’s open and anger

porous as a hedge, impervious to sea water

but no match for truth when slow to gnash.

Colors harden with time; what are jagged were

soft and green, their edges blurred. Somewhere

the rain’s as thin as blue sky. But not here.

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Equinox

Tree

Tall and narrow from a distance, trees

reach up unified, the sun always sun

in their sights. But now rain regenerates

in mid-air, the waves of continuity,

the beading ponds. The muddy trunks

inhale.

Cloud

So tall the eastern tops maybe twenty-five

thousand or higher catch an orange-blue

of an earlier later western now, not green

and red like radar, but made of pillows,

marble and other stone left behind

while moving off.

Sky

And tall as it is round,

the shell of a former place

where black wings return

to the same long dead oak

shines under a trillion lit suns.

While down here tonight

no one wonders why

up is such an unbroken line.