It's Still Life

This Is What Happens When You Give Your Poem A Voice Hey, you, poet.Listen.Blackbirdin the laurel bush.Notice thatoaksprouting in the grass.Mugwort. Ragweed.Butterfly. Moth. You say, “It’s missing the It.Where’s the drunken surprise.The toy surprise at the bottomof the box.” The It is the flow. There’s no flow,except for your leaking pen, andwhen you lean over…

On A Path And when I am a milky froth seeping into the roots of trees,  all that was will still remain.  The house. The path leading to my red front door. The climbing rose that holds up the neighbour’s fence.  Pigeons watching, waitingfor cabbage seeds to sprout. The creek. The footbridge. The blackberry brambles. Winter greys. Afternoons. Evening…

Do Ants Squint into the Wind (Reworked #2) Do ants stop, as I do, and listen to thunder roll. Do they lift their feet in the snow. On hot sand. In knee-deep depths of rain. Do their eyes squint in the sun. Do they know come July they’ll sprout wings and fly. Why do they…

Do Ants Squint into the Wind (Reworked) Do ants stop,as I do, and listento thunder roll. Do they lift their feetin the snow. On hot sand. In knee-deepdepths ofrain. Do their eyes squint in the sun. Do they knowcome July they’ll sprout wingsand fly. Why do theybubble up fromroots of trees, spreadacross the lawn, like…

Do Ants Eyes Narrow in the Wind Do ants stop, as I do, and listen to distant        gentle thunder roll.  Do they lift their feet in the snow.         On hot sand.  Do their eyes narrow in the wind. Do they know that come July they will        sprout wings…