why

can't i hang on
to just one thread
one sun-bleached thread
that flower dress
you have thrown away

just a single breath
faintest echo of that song
we tried to share

no you're right- it isn't there

then why summer still clinging so
to my winter coat?

your words

a crumpled page
my rigid fist
as if to wring out truth
and ink could run
like blood that's dried

the place I thought you were

cupped in hands

big lake's cold
washes nothing away

roar of surf
echoing over hills

dunes beneath growth and rot
never again to see
cruel burning sun unless
land- a torn wound

none of this
enough to save

I speak as if I know you
certainly I don't

only these trails of words
we leave each other

and if I believe it's possible
can't you

where is that wooden boat
blue paint peeling
dingy yellow patches

so what
if the oars are frayed
if waves are fierce

I need the wind
to sting my ears and dull my grip
I won't let go
those useless oars
I'll reach the other side

that's where you're wrong
you see
I will

not if it doesn't kill me
it will never kill me
only the part
that won't be whole

Pi

they sundered all things

moon into shadow
jupiter steeped in light
some said they should
others that they shouldn't
circumference of a circle
no beginning
no end

what then?

shall I be satisfied with this?
yes it is wonderful
but doesn't tomorrow always offer something new?
haven't I ruined everything I've ever tried to preserve?

leaves fall from that dying ash
pileated woodpeckers feast
I am not yet dust
so let me kick it up.

back

in snow dusted hills
among rattling branches

bare against winds off the lake
the west- a roar of waves

we blow cupped hands
warm our fingers

- - -

beneath hemlocks I tell the boys 
this is shelter in a blizzard

I point out hoof prints of a startled deer
we follow them backwards

lay our fingers in white pressed coolness
smooth twin teardrops

maybe she's watching us
she too knows the utility of hemlock's shade

- - -

cresting a ridge
we spot the furrow below

that's our trail
it takes us to a place I know well

boyhood's rusted nails
buried in a swell of bark

how impossible this clutter

a photo of a river through a forest

a painting of a child lifting his hand to his mother
she balances a jar of water on her head

three white stones on what's left of a gray worn limb
from a land that has ceased to exist
the vista from that tree

a camel carrying a tourist to the pyramids

silent victrola
cigarette burns on its lid
left by teenagers old when I was young
for many years abandoned
reclaimed from a shed covered in pine needles

shelves of books
bindings bleached by seldom light
how many do I still refuse to surrender?
those pages I once turned
telling myself stories of adventure
trying to unfurl the language of love
walking the tangled trails beyond love
to solemn places in unknowable deserts
standing naked and shivering before a scent of holiness

I still can't rid myself of these

beer in a bar

birds (which birds?) in branches
the strongest hug one another and smile
(do)n't love this beer this red bloody beer
it makes no handwriting I understand
answers no answer to the calling of words
burned in black windows
dead brown leaves
eating through massive nothingness of universe
of unity so confusing I can't read
nor was I meant to see
to believe or disbelieve
to dive off cliffs
if or if not
water below

Advent

"Can you could teach me the mysteries?" he asks.
She does not understand,
he can't tell what her eyes are saying.

A breeze arises,
carries no birdsong,
just the din of traffic.

An hour later he realizes he loves her,
she sees it in his eyes,
but her bus has come.

She waves goodbye.
He does not notice,
has already concluded

she's from some distant shore of heaven-
a messenger,
but she's from Cleveland.

forty nine leather straps

face pressed against face
bound from neck to knee
constricting breath
you both struggle against suffocation

if you inhale together
her ribs will crack
if you are methodical
careful
synchronized
you can undo the straps
working from top to bottom


you feel incapable
doomed
she so helpless
it's her life you try to save
yours is nothing
she pays for your every mistake

the first straps are easy
but near the end you stop attempting to unbuckle them
try to tear them off
all the while your breaths shallower
quickening

at the waist
your fingers still struggling with straps
she lays her hands on yours
whispers in your ear
you've undone enough

Digging

I saw you last night
looking right at me
I sat at a folding table
you stood at the mic
musicians played jazz
your voice as i remembered it
a beat poet
when you finished
I clapped louder than the rest
I wanted to go next
but got lost in cigarette smoke

haze

the sun is out this afternoon if only briefly low in hazy sky not gray nor blue but white a worn-out tissue something in my eye i hesitate not sure if it's remorse or longing or whether these are both the same i stand in what used to be my garden forgetting it's already november remembering how in '95 so many crossed wide valleys in cold rain living in swamps and how that cargo plane rattled tin roofs plowing up all that sod i only know the flies were bad that year

Not only this

What is it exactly that has passed through my fingers without me even knowing? I still feel its brush against my aging check. I dreamt of it last night. It startled me awake and when I fell back to sleep I lost it. All that remains is the shape of hollowness. It lingers even now at the end of this day that has taken more than I had in me to give it. I do not blame others for how much they want from me of what I can't give them and what they seem incapable of giving me, nor do I blame myself for this. I only want these few moments I have stolen from the day and horded in this folded napkin stuffed in my pocket.  I unfold it now, examine it in the stillness of this quiet room. It's not that I am glad that they have fallen asleep so I may stay awake these few more minutes. It's just that there's no other way for me. I don't know why this act of lamentation brings such peace. I only know it is singular to me in this moment and if not now poured out then not only this but everything is lost.

Is this what wonder is?

I am fishing for small pickles
sour in the greenness of a jar

until I read

indigo buntings migrate by night
follow patterns of stars
to south america

an image of them
burns through darkness

oddly when I close my eyes
I see small shadows

goldfish without color
burnt-out holes swimming deep

cerulean seas
where in soundless fathoms

mysteries like bright stars
shine

Astronauts, Lunatics

"HERE MEN FROM THE PLANET EARTH FIRST SET FOOT UPON THE MOON JULY 1969, A.D. WE CAME IN PEACE FOR ALL MANKIND" - a plaque on the Moon

While Jim Lovell's wife and children prayed for his safe return to Earth
Idi Amin beat prisoners to death with sledgehammers.

When John F Kennedy announced we were going to the Moon
Belgians dissolved Patrice Lumumba's body in sulfuric acid
they kept teeth for souvenirs.

After returning from orbit
Lisa Nowak drove from Houston to Orlando in adult diapers
they found a steel mallet in her trunk.

northward

through wandering ways
into long quiet evening

the particular route unimportant
only heading far away

around an unintentional shoreline
where waves wear away pebbles

meandering through stony elevations

along a ridge
across ravines

the exact route unfolds itself
speaks to me

miles yet
before arriving

whisperings
in shadows of a forest

not my destination
as of yet unknown

how could I not know

many years ago
you swam for me

in that swimming pool
beyond poverty

everywhere outside
the open hands of dusty children

men with leprosy
wide toothless smiles of old women

they'd thank me
for a few useless coins

you swimming
in chlorinated azure waters

your bikini
brought from the States

just that once
for me

the journey home

we send them out
in lifeboats with broken oars
leaking hulls we patched with pitch

into the open sea
beyond the old courageous
they so young how would they know?

that great shadow in the depths
they pass over
there is no other way

not for us
as we have said
it is their only hope

we but ask for them the sun
a steady breeze
to see them through