Monthly Archives: January 2018


here is a fall day as beautiful
as a child's first haircut

the smell of sweet corn and hay
lies still in the afternoon air

scout troops, families
with small children

clusters of earnest motorcycle riders
patient missionaries all

military statues gaze
out towards seminary ridge

wishing that marble were lignin
and lignin were clouds

Clock of Wood

To make a wooden gear clock
you must have the long winter nights
of the north country, a good wood stove
and the patience of a Druid

Set no goals, no timetable
The well-tempered hours will soon
drape like silk around the back of your neck
strangely courting you in a way
that beckons, but waits for grace
like an obedient bloodhound

Gears: cut at least six copies of each clock gear
from grooved spools of straight grain maple
Most will crack or warp, but likely
one of each size you need will not
If not, you have plenty of time and wood

During the endless hours of fine sanding
come up with a name for your next long-buried dog
Give Sorrow a deep bow and introduce
it to Grief, which nature reveres
Ponder why Syrian men grow the finest beards
judging from their ancient sculptures

Escapement: the arm that makes
the tick-tock sound and controls
the steady release of energy should be carved
from dense hardwood–walnut works well

Notice how the creek calms itself under the snow
and how a hawk uses the subdued evening light to hunt
while overhead, Orion hunts all night following his dogs

Pendulum: the pendulum bob can be turned
on a lathe and slotted in the back
for length adjustment to fine tune the clock’s speed
To avoid drift, the pendulum rod must be
dimensionally stable – use ashwood

When the days finally begin to grow longer
recall the diarist Samuel Pepys
who stole a kiss on the lips from the long-dead
and embalmed Queen Katherine I
who had been exhumed and put on display
in the dim abbey at Westminster
and consider setting the clock aside to settle
and finding a shameless and insatiable lover
Every Druid needs one if the sun is ever to return again

Road Work

She’s leaking hydraulic, he says
and lowers the blade of his D8 dozer
to the ground and shuts it down

The smell of newly exposed
forest soil mixes
with diesel exhaust

Robins drop from the trees
to feast on the sudden
bloom of nightcrawlers

There is a boulder in the road bed
he needs to dynamite anyway
He can replace the broken hose later

Jumping down from the track he catches
a glint of an impossibly blue egg shell
in the dirt at the edge of the cut bank

He drills an eighteen inch hole
in the boulder and gently packs the hole
with a full stick & back fills with gravel

He runs the wires
two hundred feet back
Yells for everyone to stay clear

Fire in the hole!
He touches the wires
to an old truck battery

When the deep thud hits his chest
he stands still, looking straight up for falling rocks
every other time but this one

This time he forgot
For no fucking reason
he just forgot