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 along and puffed at 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 a cathedral coherence
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.