By Mary Buchinger
Posted on
On this path in the city fens
the man walking in front of me
listens too to the geese and jays
reporting their morning news
In a ragged jacket
and filthy chinos he’s steady
on his feet
I watch him study reflections
of reeds and sky in the shallow stream
edged by rocks and debris…
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By Mary Buchinger
Posted on
river city sky
spectrum of grey
ungiving surfaces
nothing immediate
available here
suspended
between cities
someone…
...continue reading
By Mary Buchinger
Posted on
Of course I’ve noticed
how you’re drawn to
what you call my
wounds symmetry
doesn’t beckon the eye
no— disruption &
disorder a lopsidedness
reminding you you are
dreaming the rest of
your life asleep in
expectation until a
patch of bark shows
you a swirl & a
swelling about a gap
that once was
wholeness my
surface wavy like old
glass the slow
assemblage of cells
moving in to cover &
protect rippling up the
roughened river new
growth a whirlpool
whose center narrows
by season & I know
you want nothing
more than to stick your
hand into this soft-
edged opening to feel
reparation what we
trees are go ahead
touch me & awaken
to doubt