a field guide
for blasted fields
the pages
the way pages get
when they have gotten wet
then dried
a present once
inscribed with something
about forever
on page thirteen
this promise:
“the plants have
by no means
disappeared”
II
my knees are stiff
as I walk to the feeder
atop snow a brief thaw
and a hard freeze
have turned to ice
past last year’s chicory
the defeated tick clover
that can be known
by its hairy pods
its lima-bean shaped seeds
some spilled seed
millet, cracked corn
dances away
into what is left
of the poisonous Jimson
the wild sensitive
whose leaves fold up when touched
whose pods spiral upon opening
where house finch and winter wren
the inconspicuous brown creeper
with its soft, lisping call
will find it
III
nothing is ever wasted
although nothing lasts
I’ve a lump in my throat
no one likes the look of
I’ve things going wrong
I didn’t know could go wrong
& will soon be identifiable
by the scar on my neck
ultrasound, up-take scan, biopsy
but today I walked on water
at fifty, I am as old as DNA
as young as anything with feathers
crush me, and like the tansy
beside the fence
you will still find
some scent