Quills
He didn’t move —
With pliers I
Pulled 16 of them
From mouth, lips,
Nose and head —
Like last year
It is early spring
Hemlock
When the big hemlock
Washed down river
During one of the early
Spring runoffs, I went
Down with bowsaw and
Sawed off one large
Limb for the cabin
Steps handrail, and then
Went back and brought
Home a dozen smaller branches
Used for something —
Although they have only
Stood up behind the woodshed,
Bleaching in the sun,
Warping away from
Straighter timber
They once knew.
Friend
This sparrow must
Love the sun —
All day it has perched
On the stone well
Beside the empty
Trough of seed
All day its feathers
Lifted in the breeze
Its head turning
The oddest angles
If I could have him
He would fit in
The palm of my hand
Blossoms
Beneath rain clouds
She wheelbarrows
Loose black soil
Of daylilies
From the brook
To plant around
A ledge of stone
And in a month
She will smell like
_______________
Bob Arnold
WHERE RIVERS MEET
MAD RIVER PRESS
