On the old shed out back
I watched it pucker and peel
In successive seasons
Of wet, then cold, then wet again, then heat
Since decades past
I watched it pucker and peel
In successive seasons
Of wet, then cold, then wet again, then heat
Since decades past
The last thing on your mind
Is an avalanche
But it shouldn’t be
Tnorala rises
From a wide, flat plain
Dug out by a shooting star
Which fell to earth
If the bumblebee
Could do science
What world would its textbooks see
Some works of art remain incomplete
Once the artist has let them go
They need the touch of the audience
Their insight and influence
Wouldn’t it be nice
If the paths we could take in life
Were marked like ski runs
I love the chutzpah of communities
Which plunk themselves down on the edge of a continent
That the sea has been ferociously taking back
Since the land was born
In a landscape
Buffeted by winds
Battered by waves
The land and flora
Shaped, shattered,
Broken and splintered