What one abhors another finds
a focus for reflection; where
this old tractor and a pair
of balers rust with age reminds

my wife of gross abandonment,
me of the neighbors’ row on row
of grass the farmer had to mow
and feed to cows before he sent

them all away—40 all told.
Now, one abandoned tractor sits
among the yard of wreckage, its
farm life fed and cared for, sold.

But stately, still, in its own way,
weathering in the grass to test
its metal, you might say. The rest?
I’d have them cart it all away.
                        

Names hide among the noise, like frequencies
still straining to be heard behind the news
on FM radio. What by degrees
emerges from the static or the blues

arrives too late to hail a friend you know.
A hand to shake is welcome, even if
all you can manage is a curt hello.
A quick brain scan produces but a riff

of words as useless as a saxophone,
to name the sound behind the traffic’s roar.
I’m out of milk, on the highway and alone;
her name arrives while driving to the store.
                        

Hard to tear myself away
from this spring day.

I praise the sky
with words my eyes supply,

and most of all, the light, the glorious light
urging thankfulness for sight.

Seize the day;
spring’s too coy to stay.

Waste no time in the writing book.
Have another look.