Neil Moss came to Oxford
To study philosophy—the love of wisdom—
And soon after he died
One-thousand feet below
The gentle hills of Derbyshire,
Smothered unconscious
By carbon dioxide that sank,
Only to build in slow triumph
From the base of the shaft.
Our breath, like desperation,
Is heavier than oxygen.
“I just can’t fit. Yes, I believe it’s time for us to quit
But when we meet again introduced as friends
Please don’t let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world.”
—Bob Dylan, Just Like A Woman
and after Estrella Morente’s La Noche, and Pablo Neruda’s Ode to the Sea
1992
I have no answers, no reasons but your wicked game.
In this world, there is no one who will love you like me—
Underneath it, I have died, to hide, so you will not see.
For you are sun and dawn, swans bathing in your rays.
I am night, here to meet you every morning, but only—
Those green eyes, reconsidering. My eyes, arrested.
Estrella, what did you have to hide?
I bought you this ring. Yes, I bought you this ring.
“Perhaps. Quizás.”
I bought you this ring, my wife?
We never saw the altar, organ, or freshly dripping
Wax—and being tired, waning
I stopped buying you things.
I stopped buying your love—again
The evening fell, and a cloak winding the trees—
Drunk to you I ran. Street naked, on my knees, and
Repairing to my rooms, I decked myself a feathered white—
Like a swan without a partner, like a man without a wife.
Candles.
Candles from heaven.
Candles from heaven falling
On you, my immense sea.
Wax floating, votives washed over.
No more safety at the lee—on shore
The night fires snuffed out by your tidal tongue.
Saying yes. Back a no. Saying yes, of course! a yes!
Yes to us! And perhaps, perhaps, but then, a no.
I am only alive because for years I did not know what to feel.
I am grateful that I did not know what to feel.
We stopped at our usual black grated institutional bench.
Someone placed a red sticker on its arm.
Luckily no dog walkers appeared today causing my
little man to go into small dog syndrome.
He snarls and barks keeping all dogs at bay protecting
me from some imaginary danger.
Puffing his ego and embarrassing me.
Putting shame to his therapy vest at home.
Under the spreading chestnut elm we were shaded.
Birds chatter perky gossip from tree to tree.
Three couples stride by in sync.
The women chatted hands a flutter but the men
focused eyes straight ahead.
Just like my Jim.” We’re walking not talking.”
Serious bikers with helmets, gears, and spandex zoomed by.
Families with young children new at biking took their time.
Walkers and joggers passed at various speeds.
A few nodded hello.
On our return to the car Clancy lunged at smells in the grass on full alert.
Ears perked. Tail up. Trying to impress with his prowess as he drops
peemails on blades of grass, bush or tree imagining what he would do
if I dropped his leash.
i can’t remember the last time i caught a firefly
and i don’t know when i stopped calling them
lightbing bugs
time passes, and the frequency with which i say
“my memory is terrible” is getting worrisome
i know
no one warned me about this part of imbalance.
the tidal gaps of rushing water once a moment
now forgotten
i’m too afraid to talk about how afraid i am.
like maybe if i don’t speak it out loud, it’s
not real
so for now i’ll fill my notebooks and keep my fingers
crossed that photographs take long enough
to fade
remember that last afternoon hanging at tar beach
you and me and mike and a cooler full of beer
and the hot so hot sun on our hot so hot skin
shiny from oils we painted each other with
you holding his hand while he held my hand while I held your hand
as we lay on thick towels and sang along
to a boombox blaring skating rink hits over background music
of engines and car horns and children dancing in the spray of the hydrant
and when we drank enough and toked enough and we thought we were burned enough
we moved to the cooler air of the apartment to share a shower and drink more beer
and roast hot dogs on the tiny grill on the fire escape
watching the sun slip away behind towers of brick and glass and cement
and one by one fell asleep on the giant pink sofa that filled the tiny space
kissing goodbye in the morning did we even know
this was the last group hug the last see you soon the last weekend
the last weekend
you eatin’ today?
the waitress asks
the man sitting
across from us
as she sets down
his black coffee
he gently shakes
his head and
sips his drink
the woman begins
narrating about
her time working
in a nursing home
and how there
were a lot of
peoole there
suffering from
parkinson’s
meanwhile
a flamboyant man
with a stubled face
counts dollar bills
in his hand
and a crowned woman
pulls a basket of eggs
from the refrigerator
and laughs and sings
and cooks our food
so we can all keep going
Your text has been staring
at me for five days. Five days of typing
only to quickly delete
my thoughts
before ever giving myself a chance
to hit the blue arrow.
You’ve always been missing
from my life,
but there’s your circle.
Locking eyes with me
on my homepage,
giving me no choice but to stare
back, putting you
in the front of my mind
everyday. I just don’t know
if I believe in
19th chances,
maybe tomorrow…
Today we fill the silence
with our daily woes. A looming
death in the family.
The dangers of
hereditary alcoholism.
Why don’t you call more?
I close my eyes
and listen to the gentle
drone of our table fan,
lose myself in its idle
summer hum.
I am full of
nothing. My cup
runneth over with
hollow offerings.
To the tune of tragedy
I offer emptiness as tribute.
The sun hangs low in its
noose, broadcasts scarlet
fermata final breaths
to an audience of stars.
The thoughts cut deep tonight.
They slip in, uninvited,
critique every thought
and tear at ambition with
vorpal fangs.
The night stretches on,
endless, before me.
I press pen to paper and bleed.
