Here Is an Imaginary Place

constructed for my persona

here is inside

when the hours, the weather,

the activity make it so

outside when the persona

tires of herself

prefers the surprise of

a red-shouldered hawk

landed in the oak

next to a redwood deck

above yellowing willows

a hawk’s persona . . .

a raven’s, a cobbler’s bench

the scratch of a pen

is good company

if I’m writing

I’m not alone

ink to blacksmith to

candlestick to sealing wax

an envelope is a fold

to be sealed in

a horseshoe a curve

to be nailed on

if she’s on the other

side of a door

is she here?

she’s not absent

anything can wear her face

unless I forget the door

she’s still here