Three Recent Poems

by Gregg Mosson

California Orange Trees

Racing the river, events resurface within abiding shapes;

the heart pounds rapidly, but the hands must steer.

Orange superabundance—I once saw just waste.

My dear friend washed elsewhere, cheer me through God’s ear.

Mid-Game

Impenetrable positions impinge my chess;

must this young advance already face its reckoning?

Opponents box-in my stratagem to self-conscious pause,

and all the board-hemmed pieces reveal an inhuman logic.

Poem for Fire

My joy is a bird folded, chestnesting and snug.

Will you stir little bird, will you cease incubating and see?

Have you been starved, forgotten? Do you have a broken wing?

Today for me I want this poem to sing.

Winter is approaching: Clean winds blow,

blow away lingering summer, and the lingering birds go.

Little brown birds dart through the freeze. Still hawks, still crows.

Will you sing for me poem? Will you rouse my heart from snow?