Oblique angles of a ceiling,
matted thatch of loam and grass.
Roughness marks a patch of healing,
finger pads on hard cool glass.
Arc of lights on car’s back window
drum of drops on hooded head.
Curtain’s folds watched from a pillow,
spine unfolding onto bed.
Eyelids pressed in arm’s bend, snug,
hands squeeze hand, eyes find an eye.
As heels compress a homespun rug,
birds on lines hunch in the sky.
From crib to hospice, these we see;
they are what it is to be.

(West Tisbury, MA)