Only the footsteps, light
as rain, tell him she’s there.
Keep dreaming, Orpheus,
you’re almost at the top.
I step outside, call out to one
hail it, beautiful
in the lesbian bar (inked onto the photograph)
is to the viewer’s left, but is not being played;
When she posed as Beatrice, she probably
wasn’t thinking he would use this sketch of her
posthumously for the painting because she’d
The railway bridge looms above the river’s
Slow black, a stone Roman aqueduct,
Darkness throbs below. Four teenaged women
Execute thrash metal tributes, routines of
Dracula, done with his shift,
Sips a Schlitz under the boardwalk.
The Dipper fills up with days of being
noticed, opinions listened to,
talk of naming the moon.
Well, no one would mistake it for a farm
house—Ash Lawn down the road or, God forbid,
an ordinary mansion.
But why next door to the last house? Unless
she liked to stand upstairs in the new one,
Under a roof of rhododendron, in
nearly-summer, and the soft rain sounded
on the leaves,
luminous in the eye,
the budding innocence
you've risen again,
the last mirage of meaning,
for every high
there's a low,
Instruments of the Home
the window of the apartment spies
on the home
The Poet and Things
things want to flash through
losing my shine, I turned sober.
dry, alone with myself, left-over.
sun still nocturnal
When I fractured my knee I became one
of the lame. You see us on the streets,
Lizzie must have known it was high enough before she jumped from the 7th floor of her apartment in Paris. Experts claim a psychotic break from reality occurs suddenly sometimes, even in middle age
That was the season I wrote everything in Lucida, instead of Times New Roman.
Darkness that is me,
only in profile,
If the eyes are the windows of the soul,
she stands there, inside, leaning on the sill,
watching, unable to name,
A wristwatch is a handcuff, it shackles
you to the consciousness of time;
Why is it that men--I should only speak
for myself now, but a woman once told
me the same thing
Luck: to be paired with the unknown woman,
welcoming expression, blond, same age, still quite—
in her tank top and yoga pants she was born to wear,
and we’re instructed for the assisted back bend
A pink glow suffuses the cumulus,
tricked out with a delicate fringe of lace at the far
horizon in the east.
I have returned,
alone, years later, on a business trip--
I never knew the way the earth’s pulse beat
until I stood long hours at this spout
These thin blue petals crowd together so,
it’s hard to count them.
I asked Jack Maier, "Who is that pretty girl
Up there beside the schoolhouse?" "Stay away
From her!" he said.
Who's that pecking at my door?"
"I'm the bird called 'Never More!"
To drink in light or filter light,
rain streaming against the credit union,
the holly was hers,
the holly shining
with red berries,