Can you come out?

 The clouds asked the trees

Can the moon come out to play

The trees replied to the clouds

Yes, but only for a spell

For his bedtime comes quickly

Father and son

 Back when Robinson Branch was low

A father and son hiked the Florida trail

Pondering if they could cross where the 

oak tree fell

The son was the first to bravely balance the beam

The father followed shaky and on to the Shoals

together high fiving.

Tucker

The sounding

Johnclarestokes 

In the early morning in the deepest dreaming

They come sounding

Scrape of walker upon the concrete 

Spin of cycle gears in the street

Shuffles from a little boys feet

Sounds of son after adventures far

And I wake and peer into the dawn

Perchance the sounds were returning home

And upon the threshold 

It wasn’t Roger

It wasn’t daddy

It wasn’t Landon

It wasn’t Nathaniel

It wasn’t mother

But Tucker.

Today three years ago I found Tucker out front gone, no visible signs of injury. A mystery. 

About face

 About face

Johnclarestokes 

In the reoccurring dream

the little one is always running

running running

facing always away away

the old man is calling calling

but the little one

into the distance is receding 

there seems no turning

there seems no catching

this one forever 

Away racing

racing

away

Venture there

 Gathering in the Gloam

Venture if you dare

to a place above Little Shoals

Two foot bridges and you are there

All eyes watching from the palmettos.

Promises unkept

 Grain of water

I’ve learned when people say they want something

Not to act too quickly

For more times than not

They are patronizing or just expressing

Sentiment

With no intention of following through

I was more than gullibly willing to order

The couch size canvas of the Suwannee

It arrived and to me it looked awesome

I tried to contact the one who said they

Wanted one

After months of no reply 

Yesterday we hung the canvas over the piano

Don’t make me promises please

I only have so much space to hang my

Suwannee’s.

Fixx

 The Day the Runner Died

john clare

Do you recall where you were

The day upon Highway Fifteen

Out of Hardwick, Vermont

James Fuller Fixx

Collapsed into a heap on that Sunday morning of 

July 20, 1984?

Jim Vedova did, for he was

Driving by on vacation

And recalls upon reading

The papers of

Seeing the ambulance and 

The attendants while journeying

 back to Lake City

Never knowing that alone 

Beside Highway 15

The complete runner

had died.

And as for me 

The day before

At twenty nine

In my prime

I had run three

At a 5:45 pace

Never thinking that at

52, I too the widow maker

Would face,

Not upon Highway 15,

But highway 245 with

Not even a hill

To die upon in sight.

Mess of man

 And on the third day 

And on the third day, of the second week,

 God came walking

in the cool of the evening

And God said, I want me a mess of greens

And God said to the man, where is that

woman I gave thee?

And the man said, She’s got some cornbread

baking directly.

And God was pleased with the man and the woman.

Oh course, this was before they went fruit

picking.

Your version

 You know

You get to the point

Mostly around the first of February 

That you say

To Macclenny with those

Who like upon an eclipse

They don’t get it

Wonder why you’re not of the

Same version

On the same page

And you just mount your bike

And set out

In your own direction

82

 Earnest, or Ralph, if he’s yet alive, would now be age 82. Ralph dwelt on Gum Swamp all his life in the home his parents lived in. Daily he would make the three mile walk to town for a noon meal at the food kitchen. This day twelve years ago I was able to give him a lift home.

Play the clock out

 Play the clock out

In the hoop days there was 

nothing worse than being so 

near victory when the opposing

team would play the clock out,

keeping you from the ball.

This was before the twenty-four

second clock. 

And so you have chosen to

play the clock out on us.

What? 

Til we die and are gone?

What then?

You go on to the next opponent 

What a winning life you

are in.

Up

 a momentary lapse in wildness

in that moment, the white heron glanced upward, as if looking directly at his maker, then it was back to looking forever down into the water for a catch. Perhaps he was saying grace.