Becalmed

No wind. No rain.

Summer went out, fall hasn’t come.

In my window a spider hangs

motionless in its web.

 

Somewhere wildfires are burning,

smoke pluming east across the continent.

Somewhere a tropical depresssion turns

a mean eye on the Caribbean Sea.

 

In my window a spider hangs

motionless in its web.

 

Let’s run out to the end of the road

to the edge of the Pacific—

we can watch atmospheric rivers

pour water over the edge of the land.

 

I sit motionless

watching the spider in my window.

 

Why can’t I stir?

What binds my hands? What binds my feet?

I could march for peace, work for disaster relief,

surf the jet stream.

 

In my window a fly buzzes

trapped in a spiderweb.

 

 

Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside