Two new poems

At Selkirk

Digging out the widow’s basement

they broke through the roof

of a Victorian river. Ben said

the water was writing things as it flowed down the curb,

like get back, both of you, and  do you have that in a larger size?

I went up to get a look in the afternoon, it was

muttering along. If you are nature’s gift, you don’t need

to say much. Still, it would have been nice

to have an uplifting miracle. Later

people started tossing leaves in it and someone

closed its Twitter account. This all happened

in the early fall, then people forgot about it.

But in the winter the ice thickened on the sidewalk there

and you could see a line or two. I had to get the scraper from the car

and scuff out It wasn’t me.



Dog of my middle age

Black and white and isolate

his feeling dumbplay convinces me

there are soullike things in creatures.

In birds and slugs and politicians,

in fathers and largemouth bass.

Grey furze along the jaw of his inhuman face

stares up warily from the kitchen floor.

All his fears inhabit him. The twitch in his leg

of readiness. I touch him and his face falls along its bone.

Animal, his eyes say, you are one of me.