For those of you falling in love with bloggers all the time.
We’re getting published: EQPlog: Coming This Fall.
Behind the grumpy
Interned in dust and
Shriven by the bloody
Stations of Essex county biting flies
Across my shins,
Hangdog to its blistering
Handles, I level bone-jigging,
Snarling progress against
The fastness of buried roots,
Wheedled stones and
Working the lines at Bothways Farms,
A wind-whipped acreage running away
With the declining light.
Here turned up loam ensconces
Me, black with fertility, a touch,
A labor bordering on
The verbal, in a rot-
Pungent atmosphere both
Suggestive and inarticulate,
Where I can sweatily
Follow through the mental
Seed-death in these trenches
That will raise me up another season,
Baskets heavy with a harvest of words
Equal to the speechless.
Click and Read:
Tomales Bay is flat blue in the Indian summer heat.
This is the time when hikers on Inverness Ridge
Stand on tiptoe to pick ripe huckleberries
That the deer can’t reach. This is the season of lulls—
Egrets hunting in the tidal shallows, a ribbon
Of sandpipers fluttering over mudflats, white,
Then not. A drift of mist wisping off the bay.
This is the moment when bliss is what you glimpse
From the corner of your eye, as you drive past
Running errands, and the wind comes up.
And the surface of the water glitters hard against it.
-Robert, Hass from Time and Materials
Worth reading just for the writing.