Thursday, April 30, 2015

April 30

In the early days before
we’d seen the stars we
sat beside ourselves on
the shadowed stoop
waiting for a sign but
the sign that came
was not what we
were waiting for
a sparse flicker
in the murk
a nod in the
bleak dark

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

April 29

In the meantime while waiting
you just have to say words
they don’t have to mean
everything they don’t have
to save time or bring
memory to mind they don’t
have to spare the truth or
the lie that loosens it: what
you want is to go home

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

April 28

The music comes and goes
my hands are old
but still game to try
the long hiatus
hasn’t seemed to make
much difference:
that is the modest
advantage of original

Monday, April 27, 2015

April 27

This time of year
I think of Frost,
his Nothing Gold
Can Stay, and wish
I’d written that.
Yes, “leaf subsides
to leaf,” but just
before then, just
at that moment
of gold, all is held in
being, all is possible
before the fall.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

April 26

The drylands don’t attract me;
I grew up under dark evergreens
and over water—sheets of it,
spreading like silver foil to the
horizon. From the air it looked
solid and even when my father
put his small plane down
on it, the floats kept us from
disappearing under the shining
mantle. Flat, like sand, but not
empty, not that kind of place
where souls and thirsts are exposed.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

April 25

A trying day
a day full of effort
easier to fall
down now
and farther
to go harder
to accept
the trying

Always late
when the time
and never
when it

The plug gets pulled
and the water
swirls away
down one
drain or