Dear Todd,
I was taking the broom for a slow shuffle
around the dining room when I heard
the fluting of wild swans & rushed out,
scanning the sky till I spotted the long wedge
high above the hollow, heading north.
They were as dark against the sky
as we must be to them against the ground,
pausing in our Sunday labors, mouths open
as the swans pass over the train tracks
& the river, over the interstate & the quarry’s
enormous silent megaphone,
over a cardinal singing in a barberry hedge,
over junker cars & houses sheathed
in fading asphalt shingles,
over old carpets left out in the yard
Thalictrum dioicum
Dioicum: separate houses.
Here the male
& there the female.
Clouds rise from the male plant
& dangle yellow weather.
From the female plant,
ten-fingered hands stretch
in all directions.
Without scent or nectar,
what flying thing will be
their go-between?
There’s only the wind.
But this meadow-rue
has abandoned the meadow,
so it must flower early or
Let us then, do not lie
Though we lie next to each.
Let us then, do not touch
If our hearts so belie.
Let us then, do not kiss
Bereft of warmth are our lips.
Let not our eyes look at us
Blinds are drawn, the windows dark.
Let us then, do not let love
Fall into a habit like brushing the teeth.
Scatter the past to the rising wind
Like leaves fluttering in the Fall.
Let us then, not pretend to love
No reprimand for not being in love.
Life is a journey not bound on leash,
Let us, my love, now let us leave.
If I remember correctly,
It began at the temples.
I thought it most distinguished
Mature, even attractive -
Though it was the foreboding
of things to come.
Over decades, it spread gradually
Over the head, face and chest.
Now I notice it appearing
On my forearm, in ones and twos.
It took away the lustre in my eyes,
Strength in my limbs -
The slowing down of the systems
Is ominous than ever.
It is evening; sitting in my armchair,
I look at the sunlight slanting,
Trees,
To wind,
They tilt.
Flowers,
To drought,
They wilt.
Skin,
To soil,
It wears.
Mind,
To madness,
It tears.
Flames,
To water,
They drown.
Smiles,
Ash tree scratches air
outside the window still lit
after 3 am
One bright orange balloon
from the bunch, lost to the wind…
the sky’s only color
Two woolly afghans
curled by knees on the bed
kept close; that’s enough
Starlight, come how far
to glisten at the edges
of my open blinds
History is made
about two blocks south of here
I’m warm in the dark
History? Foolish.
Thursday happy hour
tabletop, sticky with beer
a saint, undisturbed
Bus driver, stone-faced
under a handlebar ‘stache
lets the cyclist live
Power, knowing that
you never get this moment
to regurgitate
“I am still freezing”
from Tolstoy’s summation of
his Russian winter
That someone would come
along but no, really you
have to save yourself
Seahawks umbrella
sunlight pours through the window and its bent blinds,
stabbing at my eyes until they're filled with swirls of red and orange.
the birds try their best to make blood pool from my ears.
No, I don't want to leave!
Please don't wake me up.
the world i've created, painstakingly crafted, dulls.
their voices are muddled as reality punches me in the gut.
What did they look like again?
a kaleidoscope dances behind my eyelids and
i pull the covers over my head.
We were at the beach. No, the park. And they were saying...
but then the dream disintegrates
and floats away in the wind.
it's all lost.
there's barely a footprint left to haunt my every memory.
"I had this dream earlier."
The feel of the air getting intense,
The sight of a funnel was astonishing,
Watching the funnel increase in size was terrifying,
I could feel the wind getting faster and faster,
I heard the sirens for tornados start up and get louder,
the wind felt as if I was waking side by side with a moving train,
as I got to safety,
I heard a sound as if something was just flinging thugs around,
I could feel the winds just above me,
I could hear the roaring wind,
I was watching the roof over my basement start to sink in towards us,
and then as we sat we no longer heard the roaring winds and no longer was our basement roof caving in,
a sign that it was now over,
Do you ever wonder if you're really enjoying something?
If you even can really enjoy something
You're on this beautiful island
Only 48 hours left
And wondering: Can I really enjoy this moment
Can I appreciate it with all my heart?
Do you know this feeling
That feeling of sorrow
Sorrow in your heart, a lump in your throat
Knowing there are only 48 hours left
So you stand there
At midnight
Stand on the balcony and look at the ocean
Listen to the wind
That's when the feeling starts
You try to stretch the time
It feels like a tree without leaves,
No one appreciates me,
Too scared to make my own food,
Even if there is photosynthesis,
Too dark until no one saw me,
Trying to make oxygen for someone breath,
But I also don’t use carbon dioxide much,
But
Thanks to the wind even though I couldn’t feel it,
But it was always with me.
I think I'd better be cut,
I'm too useless for being a tree
Like being hit by a speeding truck
And then, like a lover’s gentle caress
The winds of Nagercoil blow
From the east, the west and all around.
Among the grass, the dragonflies veer-
Swing up and away and then twist
To drop: pummelled by the winds, they
Grapple with the twigs as if on a joyride.
The ponds ripple; little waves rise
Like young girls shivering at their lovers’ kiss.
The crows and doves like drunkards
Stagger in the air; the tall palms sway
Their leaves chatter, huddled close like kids
The green paddy, as far as the eye can see-
Undulating waves of a vast sea.
Then – the winds would drop