(63)

The sun
does not

know, but
every

green thing
does.

~
(70)

Set no
expec-

tation.
Every

thing is
something.

Even
of the

wind you
can make

a poem.
Even

of the
vultures

pecking
out your

eyes.

~
(71)

Crow counts to ten
and thinks of darkness.

Stars are the eyes
of his sky, all of them.

He has no secrets.
~
(76)

These rocks, bones
of the earth

worn of wind
and water,

worn of time
and of time’s

companion,
entropy,

elements
going back

to the stars,
back to where

we come from.

~
(78)

If
it is

a small
thing

let it
be

small.

~
(95)

Eight red-tail
hawks down on

a worked field.
You ask what

it means. They
won’t tell you.

~
(112)

What is
is, and

you can’t say
otherwise

on such
a morning.

Even
the birds

agree.

~
(144)

Knobs of rock
on rough ground.

From here to hell,
such symmetry.

~
(146)

Do not
say loss.

Say ache
of wood

in sun,
weathered

towards
oblivion.

~
(153)

Blessings are gifts
we find when we need them.

Hardships are gifts as well,
and come at any time.

~
(180)

Small white
flower

in wind
along

the highway.
Heaven

is where
you put

down roots.

~

 

 

Read our interview with Tom Montag here.