a hermit’s list of difficult gifts

these clock-bound free hours,
boxed-up belonging, a tribe,

or pillows, rings, antique bed,
collection of complaints
graciously left unsaid,

or unreturnable words.
your wing-wind, sail-wind,
trust, approval, consent,

or I-love-yous tossed out
at the door, bright smiles
when one is heart-sore—

or come, and stay
or I’m coming to stay

on creating

everything fades in time, you know
how all was black before your birth
and after—you have nothing else to go on
clinging to every look and gesture
winding yourself into being


not every spark ends in a sun
transcendent, though
your hand is on the work


National Poetry Month is ended, but I still have pages in my Yes-Words journal…