It’s in the blankness,
In the problem life poses,
In the fear and anxiety,
In the downpour, in formlessness,
Ripples upon water,
Buried under snow,
Both near and far,
Upon the plain of being,
Itself an illusion,
Like a mirror image,
A rolling mist,
A vanishing line of geese
And any afterthought.
Month: August 2024
Grackle Migration
Just experienced a plague of grackles
On their way to Texas and Florida
Countless flying through the woodlot
Landing in trees and on rooftops
The air creaking with grackle-calls
The flight of dozens of black wings
Their shimmering iridescence
The bronzed and purple ones
With the sun in their eyes
Like they’d come from night
To turn the earth in flight
Their energy and abundance
Rousing me to change and delight
August
Something about August guts me
The end of summer the start of school
Change imperceptible tranquil days
The carnivals having come now gone
The light of endless afternoons
Weeds grown wild and sturgeon moons
Enliven creation through night’s duration
In August we open our cellar door
We splash wine across the floor
The harvest begun we couldn’t ask for more
Behind the soldier month the bulwark
The moving immensity of this eternal life
Salvatore Ala 