With a heavy heart alone
I quest for love unknown,
Away from amidst the crowd
being not unkind or proud.

Sing to me a song
to last all winter long,
O wily wind go find
lest woe fills my mind--
      A love of much delight
     ere my soul takes flight;

That I be content bless me...
     Then set my spirit free!

Wandering as my forebears did, without
religion, politics, agendas, hate,
ambling across this meadow, roaming about
these groves, around that lake, I gravitate
toward nothing particular — just time for smelling
the bogs and butterfly bushes; to touch those rushes,
their texture smooth as frogs; to probe this dwelling
of excellent insects; to listen to the thrushes
that pierce this fog, this cloud of quietude
guarding and sheltering these hills and fields.
I say, let there be quakes and hurricanes.
Let oceans rise. Let folks be kind or rude.

A thousand fireflies flocked
to rest on the moon like a robe

their sweat black like the fur
of a soil cured

the night smelled of the breath
of a death a mile away

the leaves cried against palms
of a keeling whale

would my stay, having lingered
a millisecond longer,

brought the light of your lotus
to the star-pond closer?

Would my hand have caught
in the mouth of the lark?

The selfish pond reflected
the stitches of a jade star;

from it a life came born
from scavenges of the past

“Now my question to you
How did this come to pass?”
– Suzanne Vega, Blood Sings

0

The egg cracks
Readying to hatch –
Every sin a blow

I

Language breaths
Creating futures –
Yet the mind’s tongue lies

III

Making roots
The earth is fertile –
It’ll never be enough

IV

Man’s ideal
Father to his folk –
Desperate to obey

IX

Place the card
Careful suspicion –
Fear will drive his thoughts

X

Water moves
The wheel is turning –
What falls will return

XII

walks in darkness
a victim of societies ills
which they heap at his door
because he has no advocate
to fight his battle
and he must suffer
the slings and arrows
of racism and ignorance
by those who tower over him
and dis parge his name
and ridicle his worthiness to be
all because he is a black child.

I was in your arms, Natalia.
You sang a song about a girl,
With long lashes covering her cheeks.
An old woman. Natalia

I cried on your shoulders.
Your hands were on my cheeks.
So wrinkled. So rough. So warm and loving.

You made me strong, Natalia.
Taught me I need nothing else,
When God was in my heart.

I fought hard, Natalia.
I made them frown. Made them angry.
Accepted no limits, went my own way.
Like you taught me.

You are sleeping now, Natalia.
With my hands on your cheeks,
I’m letting you go.

At dusk, we bring wine and wood to a small caldera
in a large grass field where we sit with our own fire
to watch candles on the hillside horizon tremble into flame.
 
A candle for the companion horse who carries us
and one for the cow whose milk sustains us.
 
A candle for faceless masses who fear and pray
and one for the woman who rides with her spear held high.
 
A candle for the grave of the silver-haired grandmother
and one for the cradle of the golden-haired baby boy. 

A candle for the skull that protects the brain

The King, the King, is crying for supper.
The Queen's in the garden with Billy Farrow.
The Prince is reading his mother's love letters.
And I'm far past ready to go.

     Buy me a copper menagerie
     With lions and tigers all in a row.
     Sing me a song of love unrequited.
     Sing me a song that's simpatico.

Meet me in the darkest rain forest,
When midnight was an hour ago.
We'll run until the sun warms our marrow.
We'll run 'til our feet touch the snow.

These are the last words
I will ever speak to you.

I tried to say them on the
Thursday before you died.

But I managed so little,
and mangled most of it.

So. I want to stay up
till 2 A.M., playing Boggle,

talking, eating, laughing,
the way we did years ago,

our young children asleep
in the room next to us.

I want every piece of fun
we ever had: movies, hikes,

s'mores, shopping, sharing
cherry pastries at Panera's.

I want to thank you for
treating hot dogs as a feast,

for treating me as part

Convergencies


1. At the Window


She regarded the nearly empty bed dispassionately.

"Don't go,"

She thought she heard him say in a voice like rotten thread,

But it was only the wind.

She jumped lightly to the sill and was gone,

A shadow skimming over the fields.


2. Reality in the Evocation Tank


The display begins with a stroboscopic urgency

And an Etch-a-Sketch style: spare, unreal.

Soon the image of a gryphon acquires depth

And loses its surrealistic tone.