The Hawk Outpost 10:15am
Sun — I guess It’s Sun —
filters through the fog
of a spring morning
I am in My Grey
C2 Rowing Outfit
Hunter is sleeping late
Eliza is on Her Way
to fun
& fame
The Hawk Outpost 9:00am
My Sky Is Silver
Cutting Along The Edge
Of Cold Grey Ocean
Our Waves Are Bigger
This Morning
Due To The Wind Last Night
I Am In My Silver Robe
Watching A Break
Of Light
Over
This Worldly Turbulence
The Hawk West Desk Window 7:52pm
I have watched The Sun
born out from under a ridge
of grey cloud —
a colour I want to call
purple —
into the clear light
between, now, the upper ridge
and a lower bank
where The Sun burns
Its way down, a molten sphere
into a bottom line of ocean islands
I want to call grey
The Hawk Portico 2:48pm
I have Poetry Clothes
Invalid Clothes
Black Jesus Clothes
& Something for The Silver Christ
borrowed from The Invalid Ensemble:
My Thick Grey Robe
worn as My
“at home” attire
seen by My Husband, My Daughter
(She picked It out)
several carpenters
& maybe neighbours
when I take out
the trash
The Hawk Outpost 7:28pm
Oh My God The Sky Is Beautiful
Layer Upon Layer Of Silky Cloud
Coloured In The Softest Blues
With Warmer Cream At The Horizon
& Mottled Grey At The Height
To Which I Tilt My Head
& Eyes
The Hawk Kitchen 6:57pm
From My Kitchen Glass Doors
I can consume The Western Light
scattered across The Grass
illuminating The Scraggly Apple
Scrub Spruce beyond
out to The Line of Blue Atlantic
trimmed with A Streak
of Warm Grey Cloud
caught
by The Golden Glow
and set before Me
on My Plate
The Hawk Kitchen 6:13pm
The Twigs Of The Scraggly Apple
Feel Their Way Up Toward The Eastern Blush
Of Sunset To My Back
The Top Branch Reaches A Cloud
— Fully Grey —
And Delineates My Future Comfort
In All Its Windy
Shivers
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:41pm
I’m not trapped by Black
— that’s Black Jesus —
I’ve thrown away all
My Black Clothes
& I’m in Grey now
I still write in books with Black Covers
& The Black Ink comes leaking through
making Me sit up straight
legs crossed
Right Hand
adroitly holding
My Onyx Pen
tipped in Silver
The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:15pm
Dr Blair’s Wife dressed in grey slacks
dark grey sweater with gold zipper
rings upon Her Fingers
LL Bean upon Her Toes
drove Her nearly new Ford Fusion
to The Little Coastal Store
on Cape Island
to buy six packs of cat treats
for seven cats
two pork chops
two lesser cuts of red meat
to listen to Fatboy Slim’s
on the way
Home
Joanna Gilman Hyde 