Tuesday, July 25, 2017


Bob Peterson, "Gray Hairstreak (Strymon melinus)," 2011

The little hairstreak slowly rubs its wings,
sliding one against the other. Small magic
the way they catch the light, as if its wings
were old silver dimes rolling across a god’s
knuckles, or ripples in the pewter water of
its genus-river Strymón. I watch as it turns
tails to heads, inverting, headstanding on
a mint blossom. I watch as its doubled tails
settle then dovetail, coin-tricking, cryptic;
so this is how it hides itself in plain sight.

Monday, July 24, 2017


sankax, "Common Eastern Bumble Bee
Queen (Bombus impatiens)
," 2010

I watch them before sunset, deep-kissing the
nectaries, brushing up on sweetness to make
a hoard against the shortening days. See how
they press themselves urgent into a blossom?
See them, carpenters small and black as lupine
seeds, as they step onto, then taste the mint?
See them, fat Bombus on the fireweed, pinning
those deep pink flowers beneath furred bellies?
A tongue of light silhouettes last bees pulling up
from their gathering, towards sleep and shadow;
the Clarkia and poppies have shut for the night.

Tuesday, July 04, 2017


Zāhir al-Dīn Ulūġh Beg Kūrakan, Souwar
al-kawakib al-thabita, Samarkand, 1436

A long arc of cirrus, segmented and fall-streak
spined: fish bones in a pale blue sky picked clean
by a westerly.

Later, as the sun tucks away: a fat fading contrail
flashes rosy as a brook trout’s belly.

Tonight’s waxing moon: a weight for a cast-net
big enough to catch all those star-bound fish.