Mozart’s Jupiter on the radio
the idea to take the tree out
of the planter that sits
on the patio outside 
the sliding glass door
that faces the sunrise occurs

he turns the classical station
off and steps out to overcast,
Jupiter hidden from him
like a previous life
exubrant with affair,
pulls the single strand
of white lights from the withered
cedar, yanks the prickly bark
to carry over to the compost
…remembers those days
when he always slept naked
with all the lights off
in the dark, so dark even
Venus was enough of a night-lite

now age, circulation, bad eyes
conjugates into a subjunctive mood
where even in June he needs
a sweater for his cold bones
and the patio Christmas lights
to see his way for his nightly
trips to the toilet

he used to say Christmas lights
left on 
were the reason for strip mines
in Harlan County

The geckos come out at night,
desert brown with bulging eyes and labial mouths,
adhering to the stucco with splayed toes,
drawn by moths and other winged insects — 
comically large mosquitos and endless varieties of beetle — 
that perch in the glow of the porch light.
Alien in appearance, with voracious appetites,
they cling frozen in place, patient as beggars, 
before striking.

When you move out, you take the shower curtain.
Our faux antler handle kitchen knives.
The bleached cow skull we bought down in Nogales.
Half of the set of Mexican blue glassware,
the incense burner and good CDs.
A decade of laughter and a few tears, 
increasingly tears.

That first night alone, I sit on the porch 
drinking tepid Tecate, wondering how things might go 
now that I’ve been unstuck from love.

My life might get better, I say aloud
to the high silver moon.

Coyote laughs. The saguaro remain silent.
The geckos begin to feast.

plan to
slip back
into certain places

most will 
outlast- longer
on the page

your body 
and blood
control the day

your heart 
make take
it away

for a long while I thought life was about finding your purpose
then I’d slot into a rail meant for me and all would flow beautifully
from there
in it’s own right
in retrospect
it’s happened twice
children
book published
yet clearly-
or clearer anyway-
now
from my over-half-way-there perspective
I can see that it’s never been about slotting into a rail
it’s been about sensing the joy in one direction
and following that.
another word for this is passionate persistence.
that’s enough to live by.

Past bedtime, I tell my sons to put on their shoes,
and we walk to the dark beach in search of sea turtles.
The special red flashlight casts an eerie orb
on the white sand.

We do not find any turtles, a nest full of eggs,
or even a set of tracks. A ghost crab is all we catch
under the crimson beam.

But it doesn’t matter. I only want to give them this
memory – warm hug of wind, dry dustings
of sand thrown against their backs, night
song of blackened waves, the smell of mud and sea.

From across the sound comes a distant flash — 
heat lighting. They both gasp, mouths round
as the letter O, sleepy eyes thrilled wide with wonder.

i am shrill
slick
in the dream they follow
sand-trails, scorched
orange/ochre
muscle
fusion

long dresses of the fleeing
catch and stick in fluid
i am one
who flees

Do I need a goal like a road
into town? I keep skidding
off. Why take a trodden
route?  I prefer wilderness,
tangles, slippery-leaved
detours. Often I sidestep,
& diverge. I trend
to the complex, get criss-
crossed. In a dream
Teacher reassures, Ditch
the practical path! Feel
laughter like a Sequoia
towering in your veins; loss
like a Humpback breaching full-
sized from your throbbing
pear-shaped heart.

Hanged Man’s Ball    

(Bal des pendus – written in 1870)

At the black gibbet, marionettes amiable
Dance, dancing the Paladins,
The devil’s lean hounds the Paladins,
The bouncing skeletons of the Saladins.

They dance, Sir Beelzebub slaps their heads
They grimace and dance by the jerking
Of a little black tie against the sky
And a smack on their foreheads this Christmas!

Then the puppets, shocked, fuse their spindle arms
Like layered organ pipes—black, bound above;
The chests are open. What used to be pressed 
To damsels clean, collides in hideous love,

The thrusting of sweaty congress disemboweled!
Lithe women writhe and swing on the hangman’s beam!
Is this love or is this confusion?… pay nothing of a mind—
Beelzebub boiling rasps bow over viola hissing in time!

My heels are hard, not in need of replacing.
My chest and legs have peeled off suits of skin.
I am naked.  There’s nothing shocking left to see Maman.
Atop my  skull a cap of mountain snow:

Crows make crowns royal, cracked—
The pink, bleeding flesh quivering at their beaks
Caught in twilight’s dawn of nocturnal winds.
At these, knights of putrescent paper armor present.

The breezes blow through the hanged men arranged
Like ferrous organ pipes, a rusty squeezebox,
And wolves go answering from the violet forests,
From a horizon, hellish and red and moaning…

Shake off and unstring these stony captains 
Who, make a holy pass, reading rosaries of love!
Their broken fingers number pale vertebrae:
There is no sanctuary, for you, dead forever!

Oh! There in the midst of the dance macabre, 
One mad skeleton, untrammeled wild to gallop
Gone, carried by whips, a stallion:
Still feeling the strangling reins around his neck,

His forefingers clutch at his bony thigh,
Giggles squeezed out of the chalk more than moans,
And, like a wanderer entering the walls of the town,
To applause he bounces the ball to the song of the bones.

At the black gibbet, marionettes amiable
Dance, dancing the Paladins,
The devil’s lean hounds the Paladins,
The bouncing skeletons of the Saladins.

Author: Arthur Rimbaud
Translator: Manny Grimaldi

* Watching our disabled female veteran neighbor struggle mowing her grass,
   he took over finishing the job.

* Her 13 year old voice pitched with fear, she called us for help. Someone was
  breaking into the house as she babysat a 4 year old and 6 year old. She was our
  neighbor and mom wasn’t home. He hopped in our car with no weapon but 
  himself to the rescue. The intruder drove off as he approached.

*. Volunteered to teach kids with disabilities how to cook once a month for 17
   years providing all the food with recipes  encased in plastic to replicate at home.

*. Taking shifts to care for my mom on hospice in our home so I could work part time
   and  Grocery shop.

*. Refusing to do a scuba live aboard and leave me home alone, worrying about my health.

*. Taking our 15 year old family dog, Toby, to the vet when it was time, by himself cause i
    couldn’t bear to do it. He came home after, took a shot of bourbon and cried his eyes out.

These are just a few from his list. The reason I trusted him with my life..

Last night I dreamt my old gray dog
was chasing a mountain lion.
Across a dark field he ducked and sprinted until his lame leg weakened.
The cat, her breath steady,  descended upon him in slow fluid movement.
Then I, a wilder banshee than she
Screamed from over the ridge.
Hair aflame with moonlight, arms waving like snakes, I dream hopped a marathon in minutes over high grasses and broken trees.
The lioness stopped, stared at me with weary yellow eyes,
and slowly
turned
away.