1.
Yogis call these buoyed minutes
the moment of the universe, and who knows
if spruce, aspen, and a golden rain tree
converse, like mycelium, through roots?
As pink limns the black ridgeline, you hear
a ruby-crowned kinglet but can’t see
if it is nestled in a fir or alligator juniper;
will another summer of crackling fires stench the air?
Will tent caterpillars infest the cottonwood?
Will an orange sunrise sting your eyes,
as helicopters dump liquid fertilizer
onto thousands of acres of burning conifers?
An architect dynamites rock to create
a skylight for a cliffside dwelling that,
below ground, has three rock walls
and one glassed-in side—though we come
and go like streamers of yellowing forsythia—
that looks toward sunrise over a white-capping sea.
the moment of the universe, and who knows
if spruce, aspen, and a golden rain tree
converse, like mycelium, through roots?
As pink limns the black ridgeline, you hear
a ruby-crowned kinglet but can’t see
if it is nestled in a fir or alligator juniper;
will another summer of crackling fires stench the air?
Will tent caterpillars infest the cottonwood?
Will an orange sunrise sting your eyes,
as helicopters dump liquid fertilizer
onto thousands of acres of burning conifers?
An architect dynamites rock to create
a skylight for a cliffside dwelling that,
below ground, has three rock walls
and one glassed-in side—though we come
and go like streamers of yellowing forsythia—
that looks toward sunrise over a white-capping sea.
2.
Clearing twigs and branches, shoveling silt,
—one monk scrapes
a knuckle through sand,
we chop willow shoots rising out of the acequia;
makes a gray X;
then another,
then another,
on a post, a spotted towhee rotates its head,
holding a paintbrush,
sweeps the colored sands
sweeps the colored sands
sideways, up, down, before flying off;
from perimeter to center;
another collects them
another collects them
I pause at these minute shifts—
in an urn;
then they disperse the sands
then they disperse the sands
in the predawn dark, I am infinitesimal
on flowing water, laying out,
in minute detail
in minute detail
gazing up at Deneb but brighten as the sky
the palace and ephemerality
of all endeavors:
of all endeavors:
brightens and see our lives unfurl:
what is stilled, flows,
what is destroyed, liberates—
what is destroyed, liberates—
3.
For each holder of water rights,
days and times start
at the lowest elevation
then move upstream
toward the reservoir.
On the first day, water
soaks the length
of the ditch and clears silt;
soon sedge, wax currant,
thinleaf alder sprout.
We divert water into downhill
pipes that run to driplines
and rotating sprinklers:
sprigs of apricots flower;
catkins burst; I pace
our length, clear debris,
scan for Cyanic milkvetch,
Tufted sand verbena,
Springer’s blazing star.
We have that western
wheatgrass, this wire rush,
and scratch—match
to flame—a path of
devotion into empty space.
days and times start
at the lowest elevation
then move upstream
toward the reservoir.
On the first day, water
soaks the length
of the ditch and clears silt;
soon sedge, wax currant,
thinleaf alder sprout.
We divert water into downhill
pipes that run to driplines
and rotating sprinklers:
sprigs of apricots flower;
catkins burst; I pace
our length, clear debris,
scan for Cyanic milkvetch,
Tufted sand verbena,
Springer’s blazing star.
We have that western
wheatgrass, this wire rush,
and scratch—match
to flame—a path of
devotion into empty space.
4.
Mark the shadows of aspen leaves
rippling on grass; beneath a veil
of white bark, aspens have a photosynthetic
layer that absorbs sunlight
through winter; a magpie sails
across a yard, flutters wing feathers,
and, landing on spruce, squawks—
it speaks to you; thinleaf alder
shoots rising out of the ditch speak;
you stand in a tree pose: inhale,
exhale, inhale, exhale: water
is to emptiness as sun is to language;
you sluice into the infinite tangle
of beginnings and ends: cottonwood
seeds swirl in the air; a wild
apricot blooms by the ditch; suddenly
each aspen leaf on a tree is a word,
the movement of leaves their syntax:
burns diamond light diffuse it
so we green green,
diamond light burns so we
diffuse it into greening—
suddenly you parse the leaves,
diffuse it into greening—
suddenly you parse the leaves,
and they are speaking to you now:
This poem appears in our fall 2023 issue, Conjunctions:81, Numina: The Enchantment Issue.