York Village

When some old man cries "puddle wonderful"
And I rush out in the warm Maine mud
The new grass green of the young May morning-
Lilacs buttercups hepaticas flood my embered mind.
For a moment let's loft in that springtime sun-

Woodpile Long axe
Chopping block shavings
Pine scent Tall trees
Green spills Stavings

Secret path Swamp ferns
Skunk cabbage Thickets
Tinney's Brook stepping stones
Maple sap spigots

Horseflies Pond-frogs
Chipmunks Crickets

Bridges' hayfield Brown-eyed susans
Golden ryegrass Buttercups
Tiny violets Dandelions
Umbre field mice Umbre pups

Orange glow beneath the chin
Look out love I'm falling in

Down Bridges' Field to Henry Rush's gravel pit
Banks of earth piled high on which to sit
See the pool where Dumpy drowned the cat
We felt bad but Dad thought that was that.

Glacial stones
grey veins
All sizes
throw one
Land slides
worn sides
Run down
what fun

At the bottom Rush's theater
Morning silence Earth bowel heat
Hear one rock fall
"puddle wonderful"
Dry caked mud smells May morning sweet.

Warm mud Slide track
Up the bank
Fall back
Slide back
Youth track

Moody's pasture Maggie's farm
Old Post Road paved down to the village
George's outhouse
Beatty's barn Gordon's grocery
Doty's tillage

Shortcut downtown pass through the cemetery
Family graves where future friends are buried
Indian folkmounds-
Jaybirds Catbirds Chicken-hawk Crow
Two paths Yellow wood
One good Go

The moss covered rim of the ampitheater
seats but one bug-seeking swallow this May morning.

Far below on the stone stage
a lone man cleans the rain spatter
from the sculptured feet of Pan.
The floor around is worn by the shod soles of thers
who over the years have come to touch and stare.
And they
as the rain
place tick-mark spatters on the aging stone.

another tiny rock rolls down the empty aisle.

The much too clever swallow
hops over an empty seat
and sings.