On Silent Night

Always that one note—
the grand build, heart-poured
to unbeautiful climax:
cracked, flawed.
It’s my voice, I say
the way it’s made; but
perhaps I am only afraid
to let go, to shine.
I would sing in the dark
under stars
alone

For Forty Years of Peace

My enemy sleeps
a tent-peg through his skull.

I am blessed for my deed
while his mother wails

Are they not finding and dividing
the spoils of war?

and this blood drowns
the voices singing—

I have no more heart
nor sleep.

Making and Un-

In those empty days, formless
planets mere swirls of gas
(glass-blown and blackly
beautiful in vast starry array)—
no need to divide
deep water from the heavens
for hell held no fury until
the very gentleman, long-fused
blew up at human
incompetence

Sun/Child

I am				too much
		light
		sleepless
				tonight
summer
my time 
earth-close			too late
		so bright

I make
		birds sing
				they
		wake
		everything

		I’m alone in
my task 			my room
		light
				seeping in
for children			
below				Mom says
				I need sleep
		to grow

Castles in Spain

it’s in your secret

vibrant line

downcast eyes

unhiding

excitement, doubt

(call it love

if it makes me feel

better)

for your hope-wracked youth

I’d give these thirty years

of carefully constructed

respectable life story

don’t tell me

star-crossed tales

just go

Escape by hawk-flight

To seek

gold, love, sage, thyme;

to find you blue ribbons;

to leave drudge work and fight dragons:

my quest.

(I’ll choose

green paths, walk a year and a day

to where sword waits in stone—

mine to keep bright

in use.)
  

After the movies

in those nights we slipped

into your house

front room dim-lighted

the old man’s liquor cabinet

unlocked

everyone asleep

and youthful we thought nothing

of taking

slow kisses

sloshing rum Coke ice

into glasses

soft radio

diving drowning

in rising warmth

again

Paradise Lost/Love, Mom

                         It’s messy,

                         I know:

wars                                         squabbles

                         between

nations                                     friends

                         bruised

hearts                                        shins

                                                   headaches, sniffles

                                                   homework, doubt—
scorpions, taxes

floods, drought—

                         You’re wonderful.

                                                   Good night,

I promise,
                         it’ll be all right.

                         But I did tell you

NOT

                         to eat

that fruit.                                 more vegetables.

 

Silvester

Now is not the time

to close down

curl up

burrow under

the comfortable warmth

of last year’s deadleaf

expectations

but time to run lightquick

down dank halls

fling open

windows and doors

to mooncold and windsilver

to wolfhowl and winterbird

song

 

Twenty-three years

we’ve been unpacking

each other by layers

glitter-gilt wrap

tissue paper

crumpled newsprint

piled useless-useful things

broken and mended

with tender fingers

tearing words

 

we keep going on mere glimpses

of that priceless gem at box bottom:

bountiful soul of this marriage