Karen pushed away from the edge of the desk. She should have brought a poster along to give her eyes some hold on the blank wall-a favorite painting, or that eleven-by-fourteen frame with different size cutouts in the mat, oval and square and rectangular openings, her daughter gazing through them at different stages of her…
Hello Sadness come out from around that door the barn door the city steel door that lock that hedge where I see you but feel you not enough to make me proper. Come, sit on my shoulder Sadness now if you're dry or reluctant I'll wet you with welcome, wear you for the weight. I've…
Go figure—it's a knitting performance every day, keeping body and clouds together, the sky grounded. Simulcast, ecumenical as everywhere, stay and hedge against the bet of bouffant space, you're the binding commitment so worlds won't split. Last week we had Thanksgiving. The post-cold warriors held a summit full of East-meets-West high hopes. Why not hold…
On the way to the village store I drive through a down-draft from the neighbor's chimney. Woodsmoke tumbles from the eaves backlit by sun, reminding me of the fire and sulfur of Grandmother's vengeful God, the one who disapproves of Bermuda shorts for girls, playing cards, strong waters, and adultery. A moment later the smoke…
Now it's raining again. Will it, luminous, ever take the place of freedom, passion in the capital? The raindrops need not formulate as prison bars— again. The absence of rain was an illusion first one, then the other settled for. It's easy to stay up all night in the music, drinking from the robber's cup—…
Though we're flat on our backs at midnight under the enormous sky, I know I'm really in the Fels Planetarium in Philadelphia, where I've come with the other third graders for the Star Show. Tonight the trailing blazes of white explode across the darkness like firecrackers and my companions ooooh and point and say, Over…
for my friend Joseph Kahn; born 1950, drowned 1982 Walking the floor after midnight I leaf through your pharmacopoeia or a book on stars. How I love the night. It should always be night, and the living with their TVs, vacuum cleaners and giggling inanities silenced. With here and there a window lit a low…
The glass of water between them did not bar, ban or challenge their fevered conversation. But soon the glass shape disappeared and the water became a serious ocean, a sexy flow and barren. This endless gap, pitch and drowning water sprays up these facts: he was just a boy and she a thriving woman; he…
The Captain becomes moody at sea. He's afraid of water; such bully amounts that prove the seas. . . A glass of water is one thing. A man easily downs it, capturing its menace in his bladder; pissing it away. A few drops of rain do little harm, save to remind of how grief looks…
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