Loon Laughter

Warbling up great canyons, drifting over silent spaces of time. When the moon fills, when the night is soft, loon laughter transforms wildness into song. It calls to another. It dances on the webbed feet of the wind. It mates whispering silence to sound, reckless and uninhibited, primitive and unbroken, indigenous, rowdy, untouched. Loon laughter echoes proudly over the hills. It seeps into the cracks of untamed places. It is reluctant to go to domesticated venues. It watches purposefully over the North. Wait for it. Be ready for it. Silence when it speaks. Know you are listening to the early, distant sounds of our first genesis. We want it to last but then, night swallows it up in its ether

Waters at Play

Softly Water teases the shore. Midnight embraced. The fawn’s gentle passage Across the divide between Sea and space. Gently it massages The overwrought mind. It plays with fancy And caresses the Worry from out of the day. It can rise, water that splits the rock. On wild, stormy days, Untamed it crashes And builds for yet Another assault. Power, magnitude, Roiling, unbridled, Its music is loud And pitched. Wave upon wave, Unapologetic, Insistent, Grand. Majesty tethered To the foam. Waves capture the sky. The iridescent blue of a summer’s day, The sprightly appeal of windswept water. The unassuming, rare incidence Of water at rest, shimmering there In the sun. Oh, its many variations. Its flu

Unending

The old chasm finds us, The old circle of rising And greeting Is lost to the winds. Memories virtue remains But its edges grow dim. So marvelous our time, So soft our touch Upon each others cheek. Quieted voices, Stilled exchanges, Kept to the scrapbook. What once was crystal Now grows ever vague. We reach to remember The parting glass, And find well-cherished Antiquities, Parcelled among the ruins. Time might heal But it also fades. It remembers But it also Takes away. It is a moving train. The whistle Echoes faintly still only in the distant hills. Oh, Great Gatherer Of days and remembered moments, keep those sacred, who have accompanied Our path. Bring them to mind again, as when we were

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Birch River Books

Grand Marais, MN 55604, USA

©2019 by Birch River Books.