The fabric of the world

in the hammock
in the shade
in the clearing
in the woods

with me
a small mosquito, two birds nearby
a shushing wind

the bleats of sheep
car on the road
woodpecker knocking:
rooster crows

30 feet above my head
four maples meet and swing their greens
in a blue sky the sun shines through,
a dappled pattern on my knees

the buzz of bees
the smell of hay
in the hammock
in the shade

the fabric of the world
envelops us
in the clearing
in the woods

~~~

Rounds

last night I ignored
the full moon
did not dance
as she sang
in rounds, stayed under
the lamp watching flickering
figures move in blue
light, watching black
words dance on a white
page but
this morning when I woke she
was still there, hanging
among the tallest branches
waiting
to say goodbye

~~~

Hot or cold

I don’t want to post only my happy poems, but when I read I do not always want to be dragged into the muck of someone else’s fear without warning. Warning: This is my fear. Wear your tall boots.
Love,
Ellen

~~~

How does anyone sleep
through global
warming
how did we sleep through the cold
war

I twist in my hot
bed and still the rain
has not come

Then we would freeze
to death now
we will fry
the rivers
dry and the animals
and grasses shrivelled
around us

I have made
a million mistakes I
have made a lake of sweat
an elegy
to the ocean planet

~~~

Sums done in the heart

One, one and one equals three
if you think mathematically.

But sums done in the heart
have a subtler art –

Hazel plus Mabel plus me.

______________________________

Hazel and Mabel are the cats I live with, who have just turned 12 and 7 years old respectively. This is their annual birthday poem.

______________________________

Wishful thinking

I want to see your heart. I want to peel away your shirt: open the buttons, one by one, lift the fabric from your chest, lay my head on your skin. Listen. Listen, then look deep, deep, into the caves where your secrets lie. I want to make sure, in the caverns where you keep your loved ones, there is a small effigy of me.

__________

Mad for a moment

Fling open the door:
the wind blows cold

but we hear chickadees
and as the snow peels back

smell mud
a hint of greening
and Spring’s buds
inching toward light.

Impatient to be out
of its woolens and flaking cells
our skin clamours to be bared
against soft sun,

our hair daydreams
of a ruffling breeze.

Mad for a moment we drag
shorts and shirts from bottom drawers

dash to the porch
to stand for seconds of glory
then tear away, back inside
warmed by a certain future.

____________________