are you going to heaven?
someone on the radio asks
flies in the kitchen
and on the table
an eye of needle
— out the window
a red bird in the dead
peach tree,
hope
like a wishbone not pulled
The trees sway in praise
of a summer evening
leaves still, drowsy–
late afternoon shadows stretch
across the lawn.
A young ginkgo before me–
optimistic in its youth
and upward progress–
its limbs reach up and out
as though in celebration,
a black ridged cup
against its base
protecting it from scrapes.
(1/10/15 @ Anglin Falls)
Bound at uneven angles,
piled at the base
of the falls among
hemlock and beech,
the ice rises
like bread, its yeast of solid
form conforms to the physics
of overhang
This cold sculpture
leaves lessons
in how it can cause
trees to fall
into crevices and over
boulders: a million years
to make this common
place where matter
expresses its states
Winter stones me,
throws me over the edge
into the abyss
0f the coming thaw
Poem 29, June 29
Morning hides the Sun
Morning hides the sun
after a cool night.
I walk a sidewalk
uphill. It slants right
to left.
In the direction
of Bowling Green
a storm brews.
In an hour or two
rain will fall
on the sidewalk
& run off right to left.
Morning hides the sun.
A memory begs me write
the story of a morning walk
we took in the sharp edges of night
the day before you left.
Your leaving was no rejection
of me. It was a moving of the scene
of love. Now I sing the blues
& write poetry devoid of two
people. Time it is said heals all
pain & rain will fall
on the sidewalk
& run off right to left.
I went to bed
with glitter
on half my body
shiny in red curls
in the morning
it’s hardly there
on arm hairs
bare legs
and I imagine
it will never
completely leave
my bedsheets
some will remain
through washing
and drying cycles
and I wonder
(if I ever take
another lover)
if that surviving glitter
will cling to the one
who made me sing
so I won’t have to
