Monday, October 11, 2021





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


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


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