our minds at dusk

exercising our minds at dusk
in the sand plains, right
below the power lines, listening to the chorus
i mean orchestra of crickets and katydids and field sparrows and there’s the whippoorwill and towhee and i don’t remember any other names but it actually makes the sounds easier to distinguish from each other because I’m not caught up in the names but instead in the octaves,

and i am paying attention to whether a call is metallic and staccato or soft and warbly. or

can you sing that note? t asks, and i try but it is too high for me.


at the end of the night, when it is totally dark
except for the almost half moon light, I hear a chirp that is loud and sharp and regular and different than the others, so I jab my finger in the air, in the direction where I think it is coming from.
no one else can hear the sound. i keep pointing my finger along to its rhythm and
still no one else hears the sound.
t acknowledges that high frequencies are hard for him, and the rest of them it seems,
and still no one else hears the sound,

c plays all sorts of different options on his smart phone, is it a Carolina ground cricket or a two spotted, striped, pine tree, field, but none of them sound the same as what I hear. ‘still, lets follow it,’ we say, so my young ears lead us to the grassy patch where the yet unnamed cricket is singing.

as new as this year

identifying the mid point in winter, like i would notch
its height in a tree trunk, marking this moment in time.

seeing the last month laid out in front of me in the form of 3 by 5 watercolor drawings, (the hobby that is as new as this year) that are resting on the floor next to the lamp
and the aloe plant

seeing my name tag, (the one from the meditation retreat) (the retreat that set the tone for everything that has followed)
perched
in the thick juicy aloe leaves

wrapping myself in a blanket and slipping my feet in oversized boots, to walk outside at the turning point between night
and day, to see if i can spot the blue super moon in the early morning.

and seeing it across the road through the neighbor’s trees, looming above the horizon, i want to follow it somewhere i can grasp it more fully,
but i don’t, and i carry my longing back inside,
slipping off the boots, and climbing the stairs back to bed

somewhere i can see

the gaping mouth of the dead possum
with its guts splayed out
around its body and lots of
flies swarming around the eyes, and i
can’t help but quickly look away as soon as i see it,
and then look back, this time for longer
staring at the mouth and tongue
as i pedal around the guts and feet
and curled up
tail

sitting in my room staring at the computer screen when i notice that the sunlight is fading outside and i propel myself down the stairs and out
the door to get to somewhere i can see the moon

watching the glowing orb of light grow
behind the tree line,
feeling the coolness of the night land
on polyester sweater
and thick denim
jean

lying on my back (on the ground) (in the garden) facing the sky
darkening (with the night),
and lightening, with the moon,
as i wait for it to
rise
seeing wisps of cloud
cirrus (named in latin for a strand, curl, lock, of hair)
wondering how almosts stop being almosts. like in the case, of ,
how does an almost become a
full
(moon)

feeling sure how there is something in the knowing that soon it will be empty again

puzzle together

when i find the leaf that might be birch that is two shades of brown divided down the central stem with an arch of diamonds cut into it as if it were a paper-cut snowflake i made when i was seven,
and i hold it up to my eye to peer through the holes
and see the moon waxing
three quarters full
rising between
the black locust branches

when i place the leaf on the kitchen counter and ro picks it up and examines it for a while, says I got it! and puts the puzzle together

how the caterpillar – bug – insect – must have gnawed its way through the leaf while it was still all curled up and small in the spring, and then the leaf grew
and changed color
and died
so months later
i find it on the path
looking like
art
for me to look through to the moon