Richard Bunch

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
...

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
...

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
...

from here you can watch
waves blaze into

horizons that bleed and stretch
...

We surrendered
through our cravings, embraced

furies in those philosophic limbs.
...

“Sorta cigar shaped, ” she urged.

“Go get the ball, Orbis, ” said another.
...

This evening
ruffles of surf
draw out shrinking sand.
...

Green sloped searching hills
splash toward the sea
with its dissolving beaches
and cormorants diving.
...

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
...

Can you finger that skyey
Riot come of age with frost, mountains
Furrowed, the tympanics of spring?
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among yellow stamens
and this salmon sunset—
a swan’s head
...

sunsets aflame
dance
fiercest orange
yielding red
...

There were survivors in your family
Too. Before the kingdoms of Benin and
Ashoka’s India, you survived it
All: denying spirit to matter, and
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We kiss beneath white wild stars
and open this earthly summer.
...

Our voices no longer tend to unison
In these boats drifting across dark waters,
No renaissance culls an older wisdom
From city lights or pain’s empty daughter.
...

...

No way to win this one, I thought, no way
Since these jocks leaped hurdles faster than I
...

...

A windy, clear day
in the soul of the body’s wartime-
gray.
...

It flows where apples ripen.
Along the way rocks
dissolve mirrors of snow.
It becomes a true cast
...