Richard Bunch Poems

After so many winters, the summer’s
Sun swims these worn hands and brightens the wine-
Shouldered hills. Coming home, no more going
Far, far away, I bring these memories
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from here you can watch
waves blaze into

horizons that bleed and stretch
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At the mercy of the wood warp
of indecision, between the famine
within and a compass without range,
I still dance in a sea penciled with despair
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You get masked by the lines sometimes
like bluish dye, in the shape of
a wolf’s rib, shot through frost
or that other tigress, fire, though
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We surrendered
through our cravings, embraced

furies in those philosophic limbs.
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Green sloped searching hills
splash toward the sea
with its dissolving beaches
and cormorants diving.
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“Sorta cigar shaped, ” she urged.

“Go get the ball, Orbis, ” said another.
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This evening
ruffles of surf
draw out shrinking sand.
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Today I can think of nothing to say.
Just listening to mute slivers of grass
As pink blossoms sputter around the path.
Fields of sunbright mustard throb in the day’s
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Can you finger that skyey
Riot come of age with frost, mountains
Furrowed, the tympanics of spring?
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