Thinking can itself be, so to say, surprised by a kind of praying. GB 45

clouds high and sun-soaked__cordgrass matted gold

sheer silence of mudflats__rich oily darks unfold

the lunar ironic twist__the pond a day-lit moon

pearly and ecstatic__voluble ducks splash down soon

To know is to have some anticipation of what is on the other side of the limit. GB 42

Bare tree full of wind__the mere sound of it whole

cut-out cries of gulls__heard not seen gulls fall

into the icy shallows__rising above the churn

shadows of light in the glare__the cold makes the face burn

the heteronomous community that is agapeic service

I swear by the old pond__black hole of the weekend

pure distance on everything__geese fly over and blend

yodeling echo silence __March sun rakes the beach rose

innumerable light-lashed thorns__here and there a hip glows

The question is elemental and inescapable. GB 18

low gutterals of geese__dark forms on the mudflat

duotone grays in the twilight__ravine to the world that

and on the return there’s this__chuckle of incoming tide

fresh and humorless__fulness of the other side

there is a heteronomy revealed in agapeic release GB44

high clouds snow glare__sudden black on gray

1 2 3 4__four geese angle away

into the cloud glow__the low tide reveals

a mountain bike upside-down__light spinning its wheels