Thank you for joining me here…

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and for reblogging my words only with credit.

by the way, if you want to “talk” with me privately, you can email me at jane.woodman@gmail.com.

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Conspiracies

Conspiracy of soil and sun demand

inspections daily of those leaves, this ground–

Persistent songs of tiny nesting wrens

require close listening to the liquid sound–

Each silken poppy petal, each new bud

calls softly for inspection and applause–

While troupes of nuthatches, all newly fledged,

perform their acrobatics without pause.

I love the airy coolness of this house,

I love the work I do there, love its care–

I love to read and write, to study French,

to cook the food with love that we then share.

But how can I escape the sun and air

outside when all conspires to keep me there?

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Garlic in Summer

Swordish leaves skewer sun

(scorn sappy cowering spinach)

suck light through highways of veins

down down underground

hungry bulbs wait and swell

bound between earth and heaven

keep heat in papered stores

for Winter’s palest days

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Watermelon

I look up from cutting Summer’s fifth watermelon

Scent of drying mint in my hair

To see you bent double weeding the garden

And our blond dog dancing upside down

With the clovered grass.

This is wealth.

A sudden sharpness calls my eye back

And my blood runs green

And forms a vine on my hand

And sounds like birdsong.

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Catalpa at Solstice

Catalpa tree at Solstice, bride of Spring,
All veils and crowns of flowers in the breeze,
Once soil’s given birth to everything,
Throws orchids at each living thing she sees.
Her veils remain, green shelters for small things
That creep or fly and nest within her arms,
Their gentle nutbrown paws or windbrushed wings
Kept safe so high above all earthbound harms.
Yet even she, her youth renewed each year
By fresh green buds and later snakelike pods,
Extends dead branches to blue atmosphere
Above the living green that floats and nods.
So she, with all her wounds and scars, still grows
Because of or despite the pain she knows.
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Catalpa at Solstice

Catalpa tree at Solstice, bride of Spring,

All veils and crowns of flowers in the breeze,

Once soil’s given birth to everything,

Throws orchids at each living thing she sees.

Her veils remain, green shelters for small things

That creep or fly and nest within her arms,

Their gentle nutbrown paws or windbrushed wings

Kept safe so high above all earthbound harms.

Yet even she, her youth renewed each year

By fresh green buds and later snakelike pods,

Extends dead branches to blue atmosphere

Above the living green that floats and nods.

So she, with all her wounds and scars, still grows

In spite of or because the pain she knows.

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This Is Also True

“Pictures–or it didn’t happen,” she commands.

But it did and in the photographic synapses

into which it was all burned as if with acid,

nightmares still sometimes arise.

One hand etched with age and longing

growing from imagination’s heat

lies wilted on a wide white slab

twitching to grasp what is not there.

A child’s cry attenuated by distance

squeaking with airy thinness

streams across miles and water

gathers strength then abruptly fades.

In deep night with no stars or moon

silent as the turtle on whose back

the world labors and groans,

tangible blackness erases faces.

These patches of poison are real,

made and make their own histories,

prove that time is just another dimension

from which nothing escapes alive.

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For John

You are sunshine after long rain

Your mouth causes the flow of my breath

Your hand the rhythm of my blood

Your presence the gravity that steadies my feet

The promise of your return tracks the sun

Opens the long evening full of light in summer

Warms the snowy nights of longer winter

Forms my memories of myself turned right

Long ago before you life lay slant

Light spread thinly on the ground

Relentless growling silence laced the dark

Strength and vision both dulled and scattered

You rose in my life like the sun

I grew toward you and fed you back your light

Heliotrope and orb in stark staring love

Dense chains of days unbreakable now

Why does everything grow strong here?

Why do mustard and poppy and sweet chives freely reseed?

Why does every root we move regenerate?

Do we really need to ask?

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