18 June 2016

2749


















2749
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 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

2748






















2748
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
Pertains,
Be without a surface?
There: the setting sun
Tells this conic section it must be minus
The shadow of a me.