lust-dreams coloured
of someone forgotten
then I seek him following
heartpaths he left
in the dream
in and out of rooms
without walls he's near,
invisible shines from
his absence
words and gestures
peeled away
our eyes knew
made notes informed our
blood carved
this dream
the dream castle the exotic land
expand to ordinary space
as you walk into them
almost bored the magic gone with
presence like a lover, or
Spring taken for granted
these tulips open
only seen with stopping,
wondering abandoning
mind's webs
this chocolate gone
with two quick bites
yet we go on exclaiming
chasing
inventing diet versions
not noticing how good dry bread
Every day she makes her way
from her place to mine, and
every day she has her say
to everyone standing in line
as I am patiently waiting, and
watching the reflection off her hair
that tears the rust off my heart.
Every day she hands out meds,
this Florence Nightingale of Jail
and every day I wait my turn
to see her lips part Giaconda smile
at not seeing me for a while,
says my name a little differently,
touches my hand a little longer,
drops the pill on my skin, and
breathes a deep friendly breath,
Even as I turned
toward green hills,
I plotted to
return to you
forever. The green
hills had plans of
their own.
A woman appears on deck.
In her shy look the sailors
Inhale the perfume of swamp roots
And certain dark streets of Marseilles.
She stands still in a shadow.
Voices of children rising from the sea,
Air bells and flowers. . . .
Or maybe she is thinking of a house,
One of those little streets in Paris
Where lovers twitter like canaries.
Or maybe it's a forest.
The leaves are hushed and still.
All this, and more, the sailors
Think of while she stands,
One hand lightly resting on the rail.
Farewell, my old pine forest!
The storm broke, and it rained,
And water rose in the pool,
And frogs hopped into the gutter,
With their skins of yellow and green,
And just their eyes shining above the surface
Of the warm solution of slime.
At night, when fireflies trace
Light-lines between the trees and flowers
Exhaling perfume,
The frogs speak to each other
In rhythm. The sound is monstrous,
But their voices are filled with satisfaction.
In the city I pine for the country;
In the country I long for conversation —
Our happy croaking.
Moonrise, and I
am here.
And where you are —
moonrise.
When you have
been journeying,
life in the house
slows to a crawl.
I go to the window.
I go to the window
again.
How I hated that bus
as it rolled me
serenely away
from you.
Under stars
diamond hard,
I cross this log bridge
where we fed birds
by the lake,
skating my boots
like a young girl,
hoping to find you,
this time, cabined,
building fire
on the open hearth.
You offered water
in a glass, and said:
you must go.
I did; or tried —
the tide returns.
I moved our bed
to the river's edge.
The moonlit waters
flooded my heart
all night.