going up we work the core
going down we work the calves
hop from one foothold to the next
to avoid a mudslide
grateful to each tree and stone
that keeps us from going over the edge
we look one step ahead
juggle momentum with balance
work up a sweat
dawn and dusk
the light in this city…
green lanterns
flow deep in trees
is this where I’m from?
black cat
stres at sunset
shape shifts
pure gold takes the sky
spreads out tulip pink
at midnight
in old neighborhoods
sidewalks
crunch and vibrate with
dancing water bugs
She watched in awe,
with memory dripping down her face,
freshwater pearls of days long gone.
Ghosts of the regatta flowed swiftly along the canal,
Venetian splendor etched in her heart.
Colors of Murano brilliant in the sunlight
beckon her to follow the sails
and find her regal place.
The gondola of her grandfather disappears around the bend,
covered in fog coasting past the railway station.
She bends forward
a sail in the wind
nestled in her sandolo mascareta
desperately reaching for the ghost,
unable to touch as it disappears.
Isn’t it incredible
how bodies make room for each other–
In a hug, in the kitchen, in bed,
in the bathroom, reaching for the toothpaste?
to tip the scales into crazed
one storm mother nature lakes and rivers and waterfalls flashing skies and frightened dogs dripping and puddling and strange new spots of darkness
no control
just let it be
the concept was clear the practice was vague
so I ran away from home
to clear the storms from my head
Suddenly the grey goes down.
A thousand pounds of horseflesh land
where earth is soft and muddied brown,
and with him, helmet for a crown,
the girl’s ride strays from what was planned.
Suddenly the grey goes down
and time suspends the rider’s frown
as both meet gravity’s demand
where earth is soft and muddied brown.
Dragged under, she fights not to drown,
flings feet from stirrups to disband.
Suddenly the grey goes down
and covers her, a big white gown
of crushing weight – can lungs expand
where earth is soft and muddied brown?
But here she finds her earned renown,
for somehow she gets up to stand.
Suddenly the grey goes down
where earth is soft and muddied brown.
In the courtyard I scent the breath
of the Eternal City,
mingled stones and vegetation
sighing with the ages—
remembering who has passed here
by the scholars’ Aula,
where dreams
and dogmas dwelt
in reasoned Latin.
Here under fading frescoes of our fathers and mothers,
saints and several monarchs,
I pause this morning
and breathe their passage,
until the smell of the laundry
reminds me—
even today’s occupations
share the perfume of eternity.
I am of Kentucky,
suburban-raised,
Tudor-style down the street
from Starbucks and Panera,
far from hollers and
gravel roads to algae-capped
ponds where bullfrogs croak
away on summer evenings
like they believe there’s no tomorrow.
Ashamed to say
so little do I know about coal
or the harvest of tobacco,
but I can attest to
the river that flows
past my city,
the seam it cuts
through the valley,
its cold, black heart
when flooding,
yet most days lazing
the color of cured leaf,
and sometimes,
it seems out of vinegar
and spite,
that of the weak whiskey
they make down
in Tennessee.
