Wednesday, December 26, 2007

The Stroke

Part of last night
was a miracle. I
felt the shiver
of change. My head
lifted and the sky
was not the morning
on the earth.

I know how you
watch each other
and listen for words
and wait, but I
am going on a
journey beyond that.
My departure is now
and I don't care.

Away, everything is
new and mine, so I nod
only agreeably and
look away. I will
no longer satisfy,
transformed am I
into a far flung

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Meditiation on a Nutcracker

Ours is bone
theirs is wood.
They made a wooden
case for their pithy
life. Our jelly
life is in a case of dense
With my hammer
I broke the wood
and took out
the wrinkled
hardened pith
the whole thing
looks like it was
fashioned by
Ours breaks like an
eggshell and our
ameoboid bubbly life

Sunday, December 23, 2007

What the Gunmen Said in a Dream

When the gunmen came
they told me now
you live in my heart.
Showed me strange
x-ray pictures of
you. I asked them if
they feed you well
in my heart.

Internet Dialog

She said,
"you ought to get out
and try it
in the real world."

"I tell too many lies,"
He said.
"Reality is
not my thing."

She said,
"You should try
my dear
in the real world."

He replied,
"If I go
to the real world,
will you be there?"

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Let 'Em Eat Meringue Pie

For those
who live at home alone
we have instructions,
guidelines for the
very lonely, sure we do.

You are granted
access to public places,
rich with smiles
which come from public
holidays, good times
which extend over community life
the entire outer surface.

There are conversations
you are allowed to have,
conversations which stay in the head
and don't hint about the parts
hidden under the curtains.

There is even a kind of affection
we have drawn up for you. It is
sweet emotional meringue.
You can love and be loved
with a laugh, perhaps a pat on your
neutral shoulder, over the top
of your jacket or even
an accidental touch of a hand.

Afternoon of a Faun

I thought my nap
after a long walk in the snow
had propelled me into Monday morning
when it was really only afternoon.

I woke up feeling
how gently time slipped under me.
I was playing Debussy
while I lay here

after a dose of poetry from my magazine.
It was delicious
the soft slippage
of time through my sleep.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

This Afternoon

In her mumbled mouth
she asks me not to go.
I am not one to turn away love when I see it.
I tell her I will come back
and I must be true.

I have my lunch
where all the no-nonsense people eat,
the scary, shined up people paid with real pay,
who argue for themselves.

I return to her as promised
where she lay suspended in a bed;
but I won't stay long and promise

Friday, December 14, 2007

I Can No Longer Feed You My Love

The nurse cringes
when I move up beside you
using your old wheelchair as a seat
and you lay in half recline.
I put the food
into your mouth
to bring back to me
the house that you have slipped from
just months ago.

As I reproduce
a warm vestige
of what we had
just over
the thinnest wall of weeks
it stuffs your lungs.
I can no longer
feed you my love.

The Christmas Party

At the next table
is a family of laughers.
The girls are
holding the old man's thin fingers,
seeming to stretch them,
telling him silly things
about made-up flirtations
and they are all laughing.

The sons and daughters and wives
and husbands and children all come
for the punch the eggnog and the
spiced chicken. They wheel him
to the table as a team, so eagerly.

They laugh, joke after joke.
The old man's face is holding
what almost could have been a laugh.
But as we two sit at our table in silence
I study him
and see in his eye
the tear.

Monday, December 10, 2007


The fog is very thick today
lubricating space like a cushion.
I can't speak in it.

Voices don't shake this air.
Doorbells don't ring. The telephone sits uselessly
with all its gay little red lights waiting.

My space is so contained,
freedom cold,
pathways marked in the snow.

I wish the winter were over
instead of just beginning.
I could wish my life away like that.

But in the Spring I could walk.
My vision could stretch out over the streets,
and I could hope for sound.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Time Blind

The trees
are dancing
and each one
dances new.

Slow eyes
can see the
motion streaming
into flesh

like glass flows,
solid for
anyone living
in his own time.