There's Always a Sailboat    

in somebody's yard, always
a boat for sale beside the road
under a tarp blue as southern seas
or exposed. More often

than not you stop
and say, "I always wanted
to get away. Go around
the world, see the sights."

You park two wheels
on the grassy limit of lawn;

you tap the hull on blocks,
landlocked, paint peeled, teak tatty.
You look thoughtful and (yes, the owners hope!)
natty, your stance as wide as water, rocking

as you barter
weather and leaf, wind, against
anything that might take us

scudding down the road.

The Measure of Happiness    

The thermometer achingly single.
My calf spooned against
yours beneath
the down. Cold
negotiated for warmth
like our barn, grandfathered, like
our pasture, fallow. If we clear it
we can run a horse, maybe two—

Oh bountiful paddock of summer, untamed
thatch of foxglove, phlox, butterfly weed.
Flight of flicker, sparrow. Oriole beguiled
above our unturned bed of sunflower and thistle,
our tufted tryst of saplings cut flat.
The apple whipped, the sumac surrendered,
nest of bunting, all blue.