Poetry

The Howl and the Wind

Howling autumn crisp / robust flutter,
foxes pensive, pounce / intense — eerie.
this foggy water / wind brushes the maple,
granite and schist, barriers ambient,
snapping amphibians / silver riverine vocalizations, we bounce lightly.

Creaking branches / groaning banks,
formed by an ancient sea / rustle,
the soil unearths / a pitch,
whistling and shushing / sounds like farming,
the floodplains with her green,
erosion region / gneiss breeds us,
we bounce lightly, holding the flame.

Swept suddenly away / in a sandstone riverbed,
to rusty pecks / natural shales while
hardwood whinnying / beech howls at
our Connecticut River / her wooded wildlife /
her early brittle hoots / eerie as we age,
eerie as our dust,
scatters down from Ledyard.

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Dare I dream of roses, a night sky passing proud, Orion and all his friends standing, in heaven’s dark blue, not loud— Like children we remember, the home from where we were, the rocket then we boarded— steel forged and smoothed our nerve. The first kiss, the awkward bumble,

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We start with feet riding on a rubber floor, a moving carriage, scuffed by thousands of shoes, our reflections caught for a second in the glass. A middle-aged man stares at us, then sinks again as the train descends into the central tunnel; brushed steel and huddled shoulders carry

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