NEAR PROVIDENCE 12/1/20

Heard across the Bay:

the distant roar of salt poured

into a ship’s hold.

My life is islands.

I sip tea in the warm Rhode

Island Fall. I can’t

even imagine

the God Who once filled my time.

What is holds me fast.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/30/20

Wind and rain off the

Bay turned my umbrella in-

side out. It was wild.

So I went home, dried

off, and made tea. Then other-

worldly insights flowed.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/29/20

You again, old swan,

your feet in the mud under

the pier, you whiter

than the Autumn sun,

than the dying year. Tonight,

we drink Hibiki.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/27/20

Yet another day,

yet another cup of tea

as the traffic dies.

I turn on the lights

as I put away the things,

and in the quiet

feel the shock thinkers

talk about. It is stunning

that it is at all.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/26/20

Another holi-

day without you, another

walk to the cove. But

a Canadian

goose, also out for a walk,

also overdressed,

and out of its el-

ement, though when it stepped a-

side, I could go on.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/24/20

Too cold for a walk

really but the ducks paddled

away chatting —a

family outing.

Feet numb, ears freezing, I stood

there smelling the first

pie you baked for me

that summer in Providence.

You knew your apples.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/24/20

I look down the road.

The houses look smaller with-

out the pinks and greens

of their small gardens,

smaller and less well-cared for,

less significant.

The only beauty

left to observe on my walk

is the play of light.

It happens with each

step I take, as various

as love to the saints.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 11/22/20

Where fresh and salt mix,

rain in my face, wind in my

ears, I seek myself.

I didn’t come out

here to see it but to feel

what it feels—the swan.

In the dark chop, the

swan looks past its image to

what it knows below.