For you, Emily:
asleep in your bed and yet
busy in my dreams
Before winter falls
you will bruise your perfect hands
picking up pine cones
December's first frost—
Palmetto bugs on their backs
Coiled millipedes
I leap a snow drift
Then ice slides down my ankle
Cool against my sock
A crackling fireplace
ghosts in the wintry blue smoke—
No more photographs
Familiar psalms
Photographs in the ashes
Pneumonia again
You hum in my palm
then an old man's perfume then
a pill in my milk
"Mount Everest wears
a snow cap all winter long,"
I laugh through my scarf
A zipper is stuck
Yanking and tearing it loose
It pinches my neck
Snowy bright morning
waking to the soft crunch of
your feet on the rug
December moonlight
stale breath and a yellow cloud
The wind is so cold
I light a candle
glowing on the windowsill:
fog mutes the city
Smell of gingerbread
Thousands of shoppers with lists:
Such cannibalism
Holiday season:
A bookstore closes early
The midwives rejoice
The winter solstice—
How long the night is for us
who sleep walk til Spring!
What more can I say?
I thought it was mistletoe
on the banister
Whose bloodstains are these?
The pillowcase is ruined
The snow is falling
Row of icicles
I protect my head and walk:
The city is white
Smell of sauerkraut
You bundle up in blankets
thicker than last year
Sky grey cloud, a breath,
Traffic jam of honking geese
The ice cracks loudly
February night—
Most unwelcoming to the
crestfallen and plain
We are castrated
We created a wax breast—
A wet cadaver
An insomniac
bumping into furniture
until morning comes
World-weary dreamer,
tears and moonlight coalesce
there on your pillow
Sad accordion,
Chin up now because you've been
anthropomorphized!
Inevitably
the scarcity of small game
causes a panic
Upon the meadow
a rabbit waits patiently
between the crosshairs
An asthma attack—
Grass stains on the first white pants
of the early spring
Beatlemania
Here comes the sun and I say,
"It's all right" with George
Thirteenth day of spring:
Trees blossoming, allergies,
It is still cold out
Nasal congestion:
It feels ten o'clock at night
by the pharmacy
Lozenge on your tongue
Your head upon the pillow
Under the weather
A mother's shadow
encompasses a baby
Where is the body?
Behind the bright eggs
hidden by pious adults,
children find nothing
A fancy hotel
aquarium springs to life
when I tap the glass
A thick wind picks up—
soon, the dude ranch will vanish
in a tornado
Wind comes to a stop
before a row of pine trees:
rain in the distance
Stacks of paper work
Coffee rings louder than birds
Raining this morning
Against the window
Raindrops paint a spring landscape
Lazy Cézannes, all
Letter from college:
Forgetting to take your pills
but doing ok
Humorous poet
Resumes his idle duty
Clipping a bonsai
Rain in the sunshine
Sunshine glorious sunshine
Glasses wet with rain
Van Morrison sings:
Sha la la la la la la
Over dewey grass
Late April morning—
a plant grows toward the sun
like an Icarus
Lightning and thunder—
the ungulates assemble
in the leaky barn
After heavy rains
horseflies deliver their young
in a mud puddle
With a heavy clop
my neighbor puts his shoe on
atop the staircase
The gate swings open
one hundred cats run through it
The hinge needs some oil
I pass a black cat
to eye him with suspicion,
and no memory
A dull razor blade
I turn it over my chin:
No beard or nothing
Bougainvillea—
Notice it is like I am
after a haircut
Budding peony
which is an omen which is
a rare thing these days
Buzzing honeycomb,
I'm counting on my fingers
the bees I've noticed
Sharp green smear and squash:
Mantis stains on my left foot
but there are its eggs!
Sunlight in the groves
gently guides a virgin's hand
to a ripe olive
Junebugs on windows
Dogs lie in the shade of the
disused band shell
Humid afternoons:
Mexican mint marigold
tea in the garden
The wind borrows kites
and then makes poems of them
for the sunbathers
A migrating swan
becomes grey in the distance—
June is orange here
Empty summer sky—
The claustrophobic hunter
lays down his rifle
Blue altostratus—
I don't know the color of
the grass beneath me
This room is so hot
Refilling an ice cube tray
This room is so hot
I make scrambled eggs
July scorches the tall grass
with indifference
I'm crushing garlic
I am ok when I cook
In fact, I'm happy
The tolling wind chime
is louder than the traffic—
still barely a breeze
In the quiet of
summer night comes a hint of
something I'm sure of
On a July night
I hear the dodo singing
but only faintly
The poet wakes with
panic that he is without
something to write with
The lunar craters
one day will welcome our plants
to their dusty soil
Corn obscures the road
Lost in Ohio for days—
Smell of a bean field
A silver apple
bleached by the sun yet remains
painted on a barn
Doing the laundry
I fold your arms all around
and dance with your shirt
Upside down like that
tears of laughter roll backwards
into your eyebrows
Iowa beckons:
"You've got a map down there,"
a stranger's voice cries
In a low lawn chair
the gardener hears music—
sound of coming rain
Atlantic ocean
The beach is so full of crabs!
Hundreds of black crabs!
Choppy ocean waves—
I clench a life preserver
and study its weight
Flower in your hair
in a burst of August wind
in a photograph
Leaving a hotel—
A sough comes naturally
at a time like this
September arrives:
with it a bad memory
of a skeleton
Walking in Sumter
takes some determination
without good sneakers
An extra olive
sweet and green has crashed down from
the cool sky above
Lonely blue firefly
comes from the moonlight to fall
asleep on my lamp
Behind the boat house
the early autumn night comes
to anxious green leaves
Listen carefully,
Acorns rattle down the roof
like clumsy burglars
A banana peel
browning in the compost heap
near some artichokes
Discarded apple
goes brown in the autumn air:
it is black with ants
Our hydrangea
has a flower this morning
We kiss during lunch
Pouring orange juice
Stepping over yellow leaves—
Splashes of color
The leaves are golden
I know they're dying, but still
the leaves are golden
A light rain follows
the election day traffic
into the sunset
Gust of November—
I stoop to tie my shoe lace
the wind goofs me up
Thanksgiving dinner
In-laws wait patiently for
some cranberry sauce
Like a gawky maid,
the sun collapses on pines,
spilling gold through them
The leafless tree sways
It holds a nest and I hold
A dull razor blade
A bad memory—
There, in the dirty attic,
When you found yourself
Black ink on my skin
pen drips contiuously
Outlining a fly
Nearly silently
snowflakes patter on red leaves
in the bright morning
There's your fingerprint
in the glossy magazines
scratching at perfume
While the butter melts
an owl hoots incessantly
during our breakfast
While I drink coffee
I find a gecko hiding
on the warm modem
The lizard stops dead,
a few minutes later goes
up the wall again
Pandemonium
Play your oboe slowly though
your mother won't know
Surrounded by steam—
A transparent spider sees
its fragile web razed
Your deep, steady breath
moves the wind across my ear
I listen all night
Deep inside a dream—
Kitchen cupboards crack and burst
Blinking smoke alarm
Berries are crashing
the winter months are coming
You won't freeze, red spot
