Saturday, August 6, 2016

Stupor

Sometimes I need proof that he once was 
-- can't trust my mind, it's made up things before. 

sometimes I close my eyes just to to see him, 
just to peak at him again
dozing in the chair 
on the inside of my lids, just to see 
him folding clothes,
just to see him stirring 
meatball soup--he looks good in his bones--
just to see him, sometimes, just to see him 
flossing while we watch the evening news, 
just to see him like that again.

And then the whole world stops, 
the whole world shatters into bits of glass 
right there behind my eyes, 
the whole world bursts 
and I am melting at the knees
inside a hale of this confetti.


Ghosts

have never seen a ghost
nor known anyone who's seen a ghost. 

I wish to see a ghost to prove there’s more 
to life than what we measure. 

What I have seen is the dead. 
I have seen a taut face dusted with flour 
and dense as stone.

But if I could see a ghost, I would overcome my dread
and speak, not knowing what to expect from a ghost. 

I would ask about God of course and karma, 
about all this suffering.

I would ask about feelings,
I would ask, are there feelings Man hasn't felt?  


But first, first I would ask about him. 

Atlas

Where in the world might I go now 
that I can go anywhere ? 

Drop a coin on the atlas and tell me 
where it lands: there I could go.

I can go anywhere now. 

But my own nature is here  
where the sky shivers in fog 
and the sun glows silver 

and the effect is mystic.

I could go anywhere now 
but I will stay by the bay, by this ocean, 
by these mountains--by all this

unfair share of beauty.

I could go anywhere but 
here lights blink from cities,
leap from the ocean foam, 

from the kindred faces. 

I could go anywhere but some nights 
I can't sleep missing him, 
missing all the lost days that drip 
from memory, so many they could 
form a deep lake.

So I will stay here with these drops.

Even though the days are flying fast as birds 
escaping from their cage, even though 
slowing them is so beyond prayer,  

I stay anchored in their mist. 

I could go anywhere but here I wouldn't 
move a cloud 
or change a scent--the marsh salt's alright with me-- 
as is every color, every pattern, every rumble 
on the street, 
every scene a little treat.