Poems


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At the Falls

Above the current
fed by summer storms

the ledge and boulders
are lush in miniature:

as ribbons of weed
shimmy, submerged,

out from the stone
bursts a trumpet of lichen.

Translucent ferns
bruise beneath our feet.

•

This heart-shaped leaf
I almost recognize, stepping clear:

green against black earth

it flares like light.

•

I could come back with guidebooks,
my focus best at close range--
and trace for days, for weeks,

the names that grow here,
private--wordless among themselves--

the water so loud we're forced to shout.

(from Season We Can't Resist, WordTech Editions, 2007; first published in New England Review; published online on the New Hampshire Poet Showcase and Verse Daily.)