Does an emptiness
attract more space
or manufacture it
one or the other
such a nice day
after all, cold, clear
elevator affability
and sunlight
drawing in
everything
except those
cherished words
not anymore
through unthinking
neglect or
something more
willful
one or the other
and would it even
matter
it may snow
tomorrow
a line is drawn
never benign
no, this much
but not a breath more
a love gone
asymptotic
infinita tristeza
again and again
on the radio
a soft rain
walking up the hill
llorar, he’s singing
about the sea
a slow walk
with too much time
to think
viento de Washington
he sings as if he knows
you’d roll your eyes
like you always do
so stingy with words
I’d disagree Manu
en cuanto a la tristeza
it’s a desert only
and dying of thirst
but yes, slowly
cold clear morning
and nowhere to be
morning to noon
more sun on the patio
hors place
hors de combat
curling on TV
all yesterday
and today
watching a rock
go and then
come to a stop
and then go
again when
another rock
hits it
incomprehensible terms
but that seems to be
the gist of it
an object at rest
tends to stay
at rest unless acted upon
by some outside force
the sun pooling in
through the closed
french doors
Mornings up North
the roar of central heat
drowning out the creek
a sign of life
in a sleeping house.
Light rain, the snow all
melted three days ago,
it had lingered a while.
A drab bird turns and turns
in the holly, but nothing
else stirs. Read the news
but then thought better
of it. The same evergreens
here as home. Sometimes
a small distance is
sufficient,
and preferable.
Sometimes rueful,
cold, intractable.
Some clouds
drift up, dissipate
on arrival.
Winter, continued
tea and quince paste
on toast, hard rain
all afternoon
weariness, dilutional
a taste of Spain
the label says
I’ve never been
a dream dredged up
on a cold mid-week day
in an empty break room
in this damp gray state
This morning, walking,
a welder’s sparks falling
inside a building frame,
a cage of flames
and empty space,
of noncommittal sky.
Sactum sanctorum,
with its quietest corners,
a heart, too, is made
from many rooms:
antechambers,
foreparlours, endlessly
recessing, a heart
has no heart to it,
it is a door that opens
and shuts.
Passage defines it,
existence demands it,
a place of access,
and egress, that hue
of regret. Somewhere
along this way, honeysuckle
is blooming early,
with weighty sweetness.
This sadness, why?
Such is love’s transgression.
To think of Romeo on this
of all days. A season
progresses, but a morning,
it gives way.
a border is
a boundary or
a perimeter
that defines a place
in physical space
but in gerund form
bordering implies
proximity to a dangerous extreme
each sense topical
timely but also ominous
its antonym
it’s hard to name
exact shades of gray
winter sky suitcloth
ashy ashen
censer censor
one is smoke
the other smoke
and mirrors
what is implied
implicitly
can still be false
scarier
is complicity
best to clearly state
a border is a line
and a line
can be toed
but also drawn–
(you’d better)
Unseasonable warmth,
a more agitated sunset,
or maybe it wasn’t–
anything can be anything, now.
Say it’s eighty out,
say it snowed,
say it’s for our good
and temporary
as if this
has never
happened before–
and I will say
that this sky is pink
and orange
as ripe citrus,
this breeze bitter
as pith, this wind
unsettled, this night
falling harder,
the way a fist does, or
a downpour, or
a spring-loaded door
A return again
back from the bay
industrial coast
the shipyards by night
and hunters at dawn
a dispassionate racoon
receeding into the woods
the day become a little
less wild
.
the difference
between a plea
and proclomation
not too much
both should know
better
this land intentionally
left fallow
.
a rainy drive
as forecast
charmless towns
without
that dutch blue sky
geese resting
and in flight
cursive, discursive
get to the point
or don’t
Twelve grapes at midnight
washed down with champagne
one for love and one
for hatred
one for kindness and one
for relentlessness
one for luck and one
for persistence
one for hope and one
for remembrances
one for going and one
for staying
and in all its sweetness
and for all its bitterness
another two
for love
OPTIONAL POETRY 