Roger poses in the woods

stands so softly

in bed of branches and leaves 

tiny birch with gold leaves 

rises up front leg 

hands curled like autumn 

hang lightly at sides 

straw hair a jangle of curls 

blends into background blur 

oh he is a junior Puck ready to circle 

the globe to find the perfect plant of love 

this moment of stasis so rare for he will run 

and jump and test his body on the path 

yes this you can see in those 

tentative dark forest smiling eyes 

prairie eagle

across highway to field

grace glides with single wing wave

white head proud alert

Lynda paints hymnal

voices sing bright colours into being 

together bring olive branch into swirling focus 

red purple yellow green and blue in centrifugal sky 

centered by inner cross 

all in starry harmony 

extended to infinite master of the universe 

worthy of praise 

    bearer of burdens 

        hearer of prayer 

            center of meditation 

                giver of love and law 

so let us sing beneath the eagle’s wing 

fishers we

Biden wins (for Lisa)

paint a little blue boy 

with golden hair on craggy cliff 

striped socks and gold trumpet 

standing in a sea of purple 

blasting bubbles into ether moon 

dripping honey above his head 

streaks of blue yellow pink and turquoise 

form crosses 

this boy with perfect posture pulling 

breath from somewhere deep within 

announcing hope and promise and possibility for 

a craggy world gone wrong 

in the penultimate moon 

of a year gone wrong

pandemic

we distance we 

nod we wash 

we mask we 

isolate we quarantine 

we cancel we 

bubble we zoom 

we cohort we 

sanitize we test 

we wait we 

result we count 

we hospitalize we 

icu we stream

we lockdown we 

mourn we 

long for an end

squirrel thoughts

quick 

nimble 

unerring 

agile 

furtive 

leaps branch to branch 

short explosive jerks 

tail for perfect balance 

so many bare branches to explore 

swaying slightly after landing 

but never in danger of falling 

kinda like Dizzy or Oscar 

scaling the treetops of blues 

and here we are 

bumblers 

so careful and deliberate 

stepping in shit 

time 

and time 

and time 

and time 

again