Photo & Poem Gallery

When the panther came

no belfry rang alarums,

no cleric spat his tea.

When the panther came

the sky an lawn were still.

The panther came

through forest,

through field,

up to the wall

and my one blossoming cherry tree.

The jaws of the cliff
Stood square against the soft hands
Of a first snowfall.
 
Yet children do not
Cry out nor do they plead once;
Snow dampens the wood.
 
You had said one thing,
And someone else another;
Outside, winter waits.

Happy Holidays, dear New Yorkers!

The fog comes 
on little cat feet. 

It sits looking 
over harbor and city 
on silent haunches 
and then moves on.

Not as on Derwentwater, when the dawn
        Comes dancing o’er Helvellyn, comes the light
        To Lago Maggiore: here the night
With jealous, lingering footsteps is withdrawn,

All was taken away from you: white dresses,
wings, even existence.
Yet I believe you,
messengers.

There, where the world is turned inside out,
a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams.

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather's house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandfather's house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,

When I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater glowing
orange as it warms the floor near my feet,
I know it’s because I’ve been fooled again

The foliage has dropped
below the window's grave edge,
baring the sky, the distant
hills, the branches,
the year's greenness
gone down from the high
light where it so fairly
defied falling.
The country opens to the sky,

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides   
The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies
On water; it glides
So from the walker, it turns
Dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you   
Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes.