Love Is

Sometimes love looks like a middle aged 

guy in boxers doing dishes by hand

in a cold kitchen at 5:30 AM.

Teeth of Night

Pine trees along the ridge

jagged against darkening blue 

like a vintage crosscut saw

mounted over the woodshed door.

Runoff

The brown creek

snow fed, rain swollen 

gallops into the pasture

tossing it’s white mane

races round the bend

under the footbridge

away.

Honey Dew?

I’m paused out in the front yard 

verbally running over my chores: 

“Bird feeders filled

cat food out

compost out

firewood in...”

Husband on his way from truck to shop calls, 

“What’s that?”

“Nothing - just going over my checklist.”

“OK.  I was just checking to see 

if it was a Chuck list!”

American Goldfinch

Dim drizzley dawn,

under the bird feeder

two zots of yellow.

Nest Building

Pygmy nuthatch heaves

off the pine forest floor

beak-burdened with something

half it’s own length and 

stutter flies - rapid wings,

glide, stall, rapid wings -

to the hollow aspen knot.

Blue Heeler

The landlord’s loose bitch

dashes snarling

bouncing on rigid legs,

I grip the furled umbrella

shout, lunge

sloshing adrenalin.