Read about Marc Harshman here.

THESE

for Jerry

These are not lucky charms. These

are bits of bone and sinew. Home

from the war, he pressed them into my hand.

I said, "thanks," and he walked away. Far

away he had been. Steep valleys,

hot mountains of war, highs

and the enemy shy. "See,"

he once said on leave, "there

won't be much left of me." I know

that now, holding his hand in mine,

charms are not enough. Prayer

after another. Repeat after each, "Lord,

have mercy, Lord, Lord . . .  ."

Names have memories. I wear his now.

Pray them as if he hears.

•••

"Only One"

There may be a million stars

But there is only one sky.

There may be fifty thousand bees

But there is only one hive.

There may be five hundred seeds

But there is only one pumpkin.

[Then the book runs through smaller numbers, 12 to the end, the last 2 stanzas being as follows:]

There may be two ropes

But there is only one swing.

But the best thing of all

Is that there is only one me

And there is only one you.

The opening lines of "Only One" published by Cobblestone/Dutton [division of Penguin USA] in 1993, illustrated by Barbara Garrison. 

•••

CHECKING THE SPRING

Up from the house, west, a few hundred feet,

where the ridge hat of poplar, maple,

we force a clutch of bramble,

wild rose and blackberry,

and through them slip

down the hard bank

of pale grasses

to the green stones

and stand

by the thin, sure sound

of water, still there, August,

and running.