My poems, if poems
other than casual
entrances into systems, are

Not smart to be out under trees with the wind still this
high: billowing & breaking bring down stob ends
of last year's drought-wood that died way up in the branches,

of cloud dispute
the sky of late afternoon,
the going sun suspended

wdn't it be silly to be serious, now:
I mean, the hardheads and the eggheads

are agreed that we are an absurd

May we tinker with nature, define &
adopt, adjust her procedures, till
we can make a nature

We are all connected, one unto another.

I won't pretend I haven't ever cried; 
that would be rather foolish under the circumstances; 
I have been myself at times astonished 

Happy baby. Bobbing. Strong arm. Slap. Hard 
water. Bottle-green swells smack, splatter. Chuck 
the chin. Bluster. Rip-roaring rumpus. Scutched. 

She’d gotten into the habit of going nights
to a secret ledge on the apartment house roof

Someone has brought potato salad and someone else has brought cole slaw.