Inspired by that post.



I know you

warming by the sun

spread out in your cold

beside each path

each one you thought

I didn’t see.


If I bought that quilt

and quit this game

Would I warm?

Or continue to see

your freeze.


Sometime after the autumnal tide
when the trees are fully clad,
I thought your golden head
was fair,
How fair the riches
of red, yellow, gold
how painted and mixed hew
when I walked her mane
her scarlet mane
racing the river’s bends.
How musty, strong
our infancy,
strong and stately
a thousand morns
a thousand trees
since we were born.
21 Sept 08

In an Illustrator’s Apartment, 1986.
  In her apartment,
  the colors are laid out
  like waves of the sun
  coming through that
  single window.
  The cats play games at 0ne O’clock
  room to room,
  a rough catch-me-if-you-can
  over half finished paintings propped
  on a worn gray couch.
  Kitchen fruit
  is arranged by color
  ready to be painted
  among the unpaid bills
  postings of upcoming shows,
  Mother’s recipes
  for homemade pie
  scent the counter and overdue
  college texts with guarantees for payment.
  sounds of others arguments
  late into the night
  while you paint,
  and paint again.
  Canvas straightened
  boxed, framed and
  changed, preserved with
  chemical atoms.
  Patti needs umber
  to finish that one.
  The last tubes
  are twisted snails
  on the living room table.   7 march 06

Memory in the Snow

And I wondered,
Standing there
Seeing how the snow
Perfectly captured
Two steps, side by side
An angel walking beside
Him? Or a second spare
Spirit, near?  Who could say.
it was a pattern of close, far
Close far, a strange staggering
Nearest where the brown grass
Blades pierced the whiteness
Like a sword, frozen petals
Like iceman, staring out at
passersby.  Maybe smiling
At these two, strolling, beneath
Pine tree guards, under winter's
Break of light, in spaces
Carved in themselves, in dreams
Captured right there in snow.

28 Oct 05




How Many Surfaces?

  Now the drop has become one,
  World's larger -
  Reflecting the surface only
  A greater freedom in the new
  Union or just the same.
  Reflections are backwards
  My face in the drop
  Is upside down
  Distorted and stretched
  Into a new place
  Self sees the day
  Ended in evaporation
  Surface is gone - for now
  Dried into the next time
  I'm wondering about the next time.
  1 Jan 05