Another day, another astrophysicist. This one says she listens to the stars– everything out there emitting radio waves, she knows them by their frequencies, tuning the dial, different things come in– births, deaths, black holes, quasars– and never saying the same thing twice, not quite, she tells me this often is overlooked, perhaps due in part to our unconscious desire to make the things we love immutable
How easily you stepped into my dreams, how easy a presence, although dreams are at best the first pass of an impressionist– colors made sentient, but poor predictors– Nonetheless waking today I feel the urge to fling open the windows and fling open doors and throw a convocation for all those cautious birds, saying this is mine, my treasure, my new call to call! In other words, to coat this fragile thing in brashness, safeguarding easily passing as an act of creation– […]
It rained last night, sad to have missed it– the porch boards blotched a deeper hue, the only hint it happened, everything else dry, the sky that white -blue color of a bit lip, tight-curled knuckles, afraid to let another drop spill out.
These minutes settle like pollen, or dust– imperceptible accrual. A bird sings the same song, over and over and over, you’d think fluency with immersion, but no, some things are inscrutable. Morning cedes with the ease of a breeze, enviably. Recondite self, what is this ache? Hope is only a stop-gap, always traded on arrival, here, now loosen your fingers, now show some grace–
Everything is bolting in the heat, sending up last gasps, small anxious leaves, scattered and flowering, even the greens in the shadiest bed giving in to reflex– panic, unbecoming, I sit in late morning’s near silence– a button strikes in the washing machine, the dog is gnashing her fur with her teeth, a jet passes low– tail, contrail, it’s motion that gives us all away– Unmoved, I eat a mealy peach.
(After Basho) Even on this perfect afternoon, I long for summer— a complicated thirst. An empty glass is a maw, a full glass, a vessel, and this view of half-moon sails clipping across cobalt water is so generously poured out, it’s no wonder I feel hollow.
The night is always more than the day the unseen weighing more heavily yet subtly the quick creasing of a bat’s wing a dull red speck that might be Saturn the implication of the doubly-stilled lake I wish I had stayed to swim in these expanses but now it’s late Monday, the maple leaves are wilting on the trees, stale sun, full heat, and I’m here if you want me–
Oh the things I won’t try to soften up this gorgon heart of mine– wine, up late with the boxes that came after the wake what remains is mostly Fujichrome, frozen smiles, some trinkets and baubles, a hat he always wore when fishing, with its cartoon shrimp dancing– I had to stop the exercise. Some materials are just not malleable, yes this could be a carapace to shed, a loss of protection in order to […]
They called again just after midnight up in the hills behind the house several coyotes come down close masked by the night protesting the absence of the moon and the loss of the four, five, six deer that trickled past here earlier, a river of hooves, still in the road like figurines before scaling up an abandoned lot, this landscape swallows those who wish it willingly, the vineyard sobbing like doves, the grasslands hissing like cicadas.
The plan to rise early turned into a slump returning to the covers as the last coyotes slouched off and not waking again till fat bars of heat fell across the room– full sun through the curtainless windows I’d left open for a breeze and to hear the coyotes ululate, and stentorian owls– now I’m entering a day that’s already been made proceeding impersonally no surprises in the sky, a uniform blue, no the song comes from below– a warbler […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 