tipi in late spring


the tipi is alive,
bird songs weave trees
a dog, a person, coming sun.

spiders safe from recent pours
scatter in the smoke and fire.
I daydream
lying on the now clean tarp
fire brings dry
to blankets, pillows, liner, cover
smoke and heat waves
rising up and through
the smoke hole.

In a few months
reeds will be long
enough to gather and bind,
and make a roof to keep firewood dry –
a roof whose both ends lift
for access to the inside,
hanging sides
to keep the wind out.

the tipi cover can be tied to
logs laid pole to pole
around the base
to hold it wide and taut
and open up
the space inside.

a bird hawk arcs the middle
of the marsh
and all the birds
are quiet.
canada goose sits
neck and head
above the grass,
wood duck cries from a log,
flies in great circles,
comes back to lead
six ducklings
slow through duckweed
arrowroot and grass
to deeper water.
beaver noses
like a riverboat
downstream where current makes
its deepest channel.

the sun has climbed the trees
to graze their tops
and crossed the marsh
to its far shore.
heat and clear sky
on the water
fed throngs of thick green grass,
and now the cool dusk
brings life to
the singing of another song.

 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>