Taylor Graham Poems
Comments about Taylor Graham
Between a mossy outcrop
and a bedrock mortar.
I watch a neighbor’s wood-smoke rise
toward the contrail
of a transcontinental flight.
Two overwintered bluebirds
peck berries from the mistletoe of a dying oak
whose roots dig into frost-heave,
decomposing granite re-composing
tree and shadow.
Atop a boulder, a squirrel has eaten
half a mushroom-cap and left the rest.
Coyote scat is full of manzanita berries
and fur, fragments of bone: what’s
left of gray squirrel.
I imagine I could hear the earth turn
its worms through soil, or ...
The neighbors’ dogs bark-wag, furry
wet smell against my hand
at the latch. For another week
they’re mine. The cats stay out of sight.
A caged rabbit kicks shavings
as far as bunny-feet can.
The chickens go on scratching scratch.
A cote of doves coos not eternal love
but ever-falling rain on the roof.