from WOODEN NOODLES
__________________________
In spring
birds teaching leaves
how to sing
leaves teaching birds
how to whisper
Milky Way
a blissful spray of light -
we did cross this river
I remember that
little bridge
Usually
I sin in the house
and pray in the garden.
although on some nights
it happens the other way around
I make paper airplanes
out of love poems which
from so much practice
I am able to land
at her feet
Lightning
hitting a dead apple tree -
in childhood I thought nothing
of eating a
stick of butter
The house I lived in as a boy
good and bad angels
hanging in the closet
like bats the size
of overcoats
The rat I saw
down by the river
the rat that saw me
in dusty evening light
carrying a bag of cookies
Not so uncommon
a moth dying in its sleep
outside a diner
serving breakfast
at any hour of the day
Found in a pocket
of a jacket
in the closet
a desert night
from long ago
Do the ghosts
of childhood dogs
refusing to get out of my bed
have anything to do
with insomnia
A cheap clock wakes me
then a breeze from
a nearby burning field
lulls me back
to sleep
Throw my ashes
in the pond at Mt T
I have seen glints of heaven
in the eyes
of frogs
___________________
Ronald Baatz
Wooden Noodles
Black Fig Press
2021
