birthday poem

red leaf fish
floating back and forth,
dark water reflecting
trees, the evening sky

a cherry petal
drifts down to the fish,
becomes its eye;
I have a camera,
but it won’t capture
such casual beauty,
seamless, without
white space


domestic note

dinner for himself (Pam in Spain for a few weeks)

I sat down for dinner and thought, wait, this might make a picture.

Below is a picture of the houseboat entry which I just widened, incorporating a section of iron fence Pam had been saving. Fun.

houseboat entry

Chartreuse Shade

trees on the bluff, golden;
on the shore below:
a young birch, its tip
alive with light,
bright yellow, swaying,
dipping into chartreuse shade,
springing back,
an arrow
sent from the ground,
embraced by
a shiver of breeze




birches rising from snow,
white irregular columns
in the dark,
flecked with black,
touches of
yellow / pale gold
under bark,
as though seen
by candle light
through a boy’s eye

for Larry & Patty

(Written after Larry Rowell said
he didn’t see why his painting
should be called “art”—
“I only copied what was there.
I didn’t create anything.”)

Art is reality reflected through the human spirit. When we absorb a work of art, we feel our own reactions along with the intimate presence of the artist, even over centuries and across cultural borders. This is the heart of art.


cherry in bloom,
dark bare arms,
delicate cloud
not pink, not white,
russet and green
there but not quite seen,
a light blush of lavender
opening outward,
promising, scattering
the beauty
that precedes fruit