Archive | February 2013

Finally!

Clarity

(or…If you wonder why…)

Regret clings to the hand
of every choice.
And I want you to know
that I know it.

Some dozen years gone,
I tangled with sky,
but cast my lot
with the underground.

And though I make
an affectation of this search —
what is true is this:
I am the roots.

Once I buried my bones
and blood to be branching
and unseen —
to hold up the above.

Which is not to say
that I no longer seek.
Only that I watch
wind and sun from below —

All the ways
they make love to dirt.
This is nourishment
for what is more wonderful.

I’ve chosen the conduit
life, buried power —
a concealment of what
keeps this thing on its feet.

And so, though my eyes
were only painted pretend
to open when I turned,
still I must —

I choose to —
remain hidden.
And I’ll savor my regrets
without salt.

By the River

This river recurs
in the night
when we can’t sleep.

You take my hand
under fireworks
green and orange.

Grown weary
of higher ground,
our feet are underwater.

Close your eyes,
and I will tell
the ways you make me weep.

Close your eyes,
and I will give you
words that pretend to be keys.

Close your eyes
and I won’t say
what isn’t true.

Close your eyes.
This is just a dream.

And if you look at me,
moonlight might shiver
on the water.

And if you look at me,
a crooked smile
might break these chains.

And if you look at me,
you’re bound to see
my muddy feet.

Look at me.
This is not a dream.

Fevered

And so
the medicine
of stepping in
to sense
is called for.

It is
a choking, close
air that binds us
too close —
company’s

over-
abundance, which
leads us to this
impasse.
So, listen:

Pause. Now
is not the time
for withholding.
The sun
is outside.

Don’t

In the filtered winter light,
There’s no need to hide an eye
Unless one fears what might be seen
Exposed there plain and bold as sky.
And two can wait the warming now.
Don’t pretend you don’t know how.

There are these hands to hold them here
Where ice has settled on the pond.
And warmth enough to keep them now
Until the sweets of summer come.
And two can wait for it to sing.
Don’t say that you don’t know a thing.

And when it comes their toes will curl
Into the weeds and unfurled flags
Announce the shadowed beating thing
That’s hidden in this gray.
Let time push its way in,
Then two might make it stay.

You’re colder than I thought you’d be,
And ride among the blue and gray.
Your winter asks for subtlety,
So send the children off to play.
Two stay to sing when shadows grow
Don’t tell me that it can’t be so.