Tim Nolan is author of several collections of poetry. His work is celebrated by many for his openness to experience and feeling. Learn more about Tim here.

Stray Words................................................3I Have Only A Little.....................................5Wind in Spring...........................................712 Years Old...............................................9Our Midwestern Sky................................11Treasure...................................................13Happiness................................................15

I HI HAVEAVE O ONLYNLY A L A LITTLEITTLE

Piece of paper to write upon—I want more paper

I want a sheet of vellumor a stone to etch upon

But I only have this slip—this nothing—this small space

In which to say—I have

nothing—I have everything—

A few words, a heart,a pen, this slip of nothing—

WWINDIND ININ S SPRINGPRING

Blowing me around blowingmy papers and my eyelashes

blowing the ash off my cigaretteonto my brown sweater

blowing the fresh topsoil against the houseblowing the box kite with its delicate

tissue panels and balsa frameblowing and tugging the kite string

I’ve held myself against all windsthe sharp winter wind from Winnipeg

the small breeze in the corner of my brainthe rain and wind and hail

bouncing off the roof of the orange carin the South Dakota storm

Now I realizethe wind has always loved me

12 Y12 YEARSEARS O OLDLD

If I had five bucksin my pocket

I would godowntown for lunch.

Still doing it.Many lunches.

Reading a book.Or this scribbling.

I'm so happy—to be the same one.

SSTRAYTRAY W WORDSORDS

All the words are straysall of them are mutts

From any number of themI chose these

So they belong to melike my old dogs

Picked for their sweeteyes from the pound

They’ve been all aroundthe city—smelling garbage

And urine—they have a mapof the city in their noses

Yet they always come back to mescruffled—still loving me

OOURUR M MIDWESTERNIDWESTERN S SKYKY

We know we are nowherebut because we are herewe look up

All the clouds go eastexcept tonight the cloudsfloat west in a strange current

Like ships that should headtoward home but insteadfloat out in a low wind

Toward the far reacheswe are the far reacheswe’ve always known this

TTREASUREREASURE

I’ve always thought there was an islandwhere in the sand forty paces here

fifty paces toward the tallest palm treethere would be the chest and the treasure.

Now I think if you climb up to the topof the tree I sit under

and look down there will be a chestwithin which there’s a heart

still beating regularly still uncloggedwithin which there is

a mirror or the blue skyreflective. And X will mark the spot.

HHAPPINESSAPPINESS

The coincidence of a cleardeep breath a few words a friendwho has known me through everything