Children

Obsolete is absolutely useless
although in the past
he was reasonably handy
time—it kept on ticking and…

Brown.
 Nutmeg brown.
  Sharp, redolent nutmeg brown. Nutmeg for gingerbread,
allspice for cider:
Grandma…

Crunch! We walk through fresh new snow
that sparkles on the frozen ground.
It’s peaceful here among the…

I pass between lions
guarding what's inside:
bound gems to open,
endless words that sparkle.
I read till…

Arctic tundra,
Arctic tundra,
How does your garden grow?
With lupine seeds
And fireweeds
And bearberries …

"Snug as a bug in a hug,"
says Gran, like she always does,
and laughs down my neck
with her smoky-mint …

Something will change every day.
I moved six times. I felt like I was traveling.
But something will …

Gazing at the sky, all cloud-strewn
A child wonders, Where’s my moon?

Child cries a river like a monsoon…

1 berry-stained month of summer
1 grandmother
2 cups flour
½ cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
½…

I saw thousands of pumpkins last night
come floating in on the tide,
bumping up against the rocks and
rolling…

Take all summer,
your ember from the sun,
its walking meditation. Store it in small
vaults of light to …

I don’t like similes.Every time I try to think of onemy brain feels like a vast, empty desert;my eyes…

Late in May as the light lengthens
toward summer the young goldfinches
flutter down through the day for…

As a quiet little seedling
    Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
    And this is what…

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which…

Set with raindrops, displayed
between the king’s mantle and the litchi tree,
was the cobweb I almost walked…

Hush thee and sleep, little one, 
     The feathers on thy board sway to and fro; 
The shadows reach far downward…

make
this world
a whole lot
brighter

when
I
grow up
I'll
be
a writer.
I'll
write about
some things
I know—

                    how to bunt
                    how to throw . . .

           ...

Welcome children of the Spring,
   In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
   On the verdant plain and wold.

As a bright and joyous troop
   From the breast of earth ye came
Fair and lovely are your cheeks,
   With...

The mountain and the squirrel  
Had a quarrel;  
And the former called the latter ‘Little Prig.’
Bun replied,  
‘You are doubtless very big;         
But all sorts of things and weather  
Must be taken in together,  
To make up a year  
And a sphere.  
And I think it no disgrace  
To...