18 June 2016


My august ancestral strands will all to one twine,
To one twine all,
It is a matter
Of time.
My grandfather strolled 
In Prague and stood to puff his cigar.
The sky was gray but for an intermittent column of light.
The boulevards met this horizon
And that, at this or another angle,
With somehow a cathedral coherence,
As a masterwork of single intent.
He was content
And took note of nothing beyond this his contentment.
This is who I was before I was born, looking
Idly at the sky.

14 June 2016


Love's limits want a spacious walk
To find a lost affection:
An unmarked turn, a trespass
Of a boundary.
Can a walk when the term
Be without a surface?
There: the setting sun
Tells this conic section it must be minus
The shadow of a me.

29 May 2016


In situ:
The cat.
Two hours have moved
One whisker or another 
On his grave face on the windowsill.
He did move an eye
Once to survey me,
And myself then too.

15 May 2016


Oliver Sacks has died
And the brass columns,
The pipes at each end threaded,
By caliber and density,
By mathematical qualities,
In the hand:
The beneficence of solidity;
Then would these brass lines bend, stretch, arc
Most curiously, pleasingly
A rulered solidity still.
How measure a quality
On the same scale merely
More interior?


12 May 2016


The sparrow flew up to greet me,
Watching sharply as I was
The smoke in the sun from my cigarette.
At his second try he was in my eye,
Feathered suitor,
Four storeys balanced in the air.
He knew me I know
From our pavement conversations.
Again he came up
A bit away this time
And with a jut of himself,
Caught his prey.

07 May 2016


When in conversation with a field at night,
And bosomed with her as far as we call hers,
What shadowed fork in a listening tree,
Or arc of grass
In  a wind's voice calling,
Would tell of that secret place?