Drinking with Li Po
He pours from the jug of ten thousand things.
We talk of the moon, form our words from its light. He tells me life is a thread that unravels in strange ways. Our job is to pull.
He pours another round of cloudy wine called Transparency.
I struggle to find the bottom of the cup, to see in the hazy dregs, everything and nothing.
Almost Heaven
Sin shouts from mountain tops blown away for profit, from valleys filled with the slag of an economy that chokes rivers and minds.
A sign announces: Jesus is coming— Are you ready? I want to know what he will do when he gets here. Will he travel up the hollows where tourists rarely go? Whip mine owners and overturn the government they own? Will he build Zion among these hills? If he would only If only
Michael Ratcliffe is a geographer whose poetry often reflects his interests in landscape and spirituality. His poems have appeared in print and on-line, including Gargoyle, Peacock Journal, Fourth and Sycamore, and Maryland in Poetry. His chapbook, Landscapes and Observations, is forthcoming from Fallen Tree Press. Mike lives with his wife and son on Catoctin Mountain outside Emmitsburg, Maryland, where he gardens, takes care of trees, and sets out on long bike rides. He can also be found at michaelratcliffespoetry.