Then, of course, there’s Simic with one of my other loves, those Greeks. Back to rivers, to the one where the moon sends only emissaries.
from Charon’s Cosmology / by Charles Simic
Once in a long while a mirror
Or a book which he throws
Overboard into the dark river
Swift and cold and deep
Moons make me think of Sylvia; but, since Sylvia’s had her turn for a time, here is one of Strand’s moons today.
from The Prediction / by Mark Strand
That night, the moon drifted over the pond,
turning the water to milk, and under
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees,
a young woman walked, and for an instant
the future came to her
For my west-coast English-comp professor, one who teaches us, in many ways, to remember to love form, and an Angelino with warm memories of Vermont’s frozen embankments.
from Joseph / by Timothy Steele
Vague winds cross, streamingly, its face,
Remote and icy and antique,
And to its light I whisper, Speak.
Love the little birds and all the art that follows them.
from John James Audubon / by Stephen Vincent Benét
Let the wind blow hot or cold,
Let it rain or snow,
Everywhere the birds went
Audubon would go.
Thank you to our 21st-Century guide, Lucas Seastrom, for bringing the skull to light and for capturing the imagination of our children with, not only the secret doors and passages, but with the poetry of the carved word, the painted word, the quoted word, the spoken word (by Jeffers himself) and the printed word read aloud, offered back again, as it once was daily, to this plot’s salt air.
from Tor House / by Robinson Jeffers
My ghost you needn’t look for; it is probably
Here, but a dark one, deep in the granite, not dancing on wind
With the mad wings and the day moon.
Duhamel is the editor of the 2013 Best American Poetry.
from Hippie Barbie / by Denise Duhamel
She couldn’t
make a peace sign with her stuck-together fingers.
She felt a little like Sandra Dee at a Janis Joplin concert.
From her signature poem. And, fathers and daughters.
from Supernatural Love / by Gjertrud Schnackenberg
My father puzzles why
It is my habit to identify
Carnations as “Christ’s flowers,” knowing I
Can give no explanation but “Because.”
Brothers and sisters. And, snow.
from Wind Wrapped in Snow / by Debora Greger
Snowflake, you’re out
with no coat. Listen. Stand still.
No one is calling
across a world half-buried in snow,
Come back, you hear me,
Come back this instant, you forgot —
from The Book of Ephraim / by James Merrill
Yet even the most fragmentary message —
Twice as entertaining, twice as wise
As either of its mediums — enthralled them.
Twenty-three years today since our father had his gun salute and American-flag folding. He was not a pilot, but he was a B-52 navigator.
from The Lost Pilot / by James Tate
and you, passing over again,
fast, perfect, and unwilling
to tell me that you are doing
well
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