& come back
to life again,
is stretching out his arms
in the dark
as if to embrace
favorite ghosts.
His heart stops
& starts.
Once more
he has been pardoned
for nothing.
It is my father
making the darkness
into daughters.
Similar Posts
You-the purest pleasure
the split pitthat provesthe ripeness of the fruit,the unbroken centerof my broken hopes-O little one,making youhas centered my lopsided lifeso that if I knowa happinessthat reason never taught,it is because of your smallunreasonably wrigglishlimbs.Daughter, little bean,sprout, sproutlet, smallestgirleen,just saying your namemakes me grin.I used to hate the word Mother,found it obscene,& now I love itsince…
There is only one story:
then stopped loving her,while she did notstop loving him.There is only one story:she loved him,then stopped loving him,while he did notstop loving her.The truth is simple:you do not diefrom love.You only wishyou did.
He says he is a perfect poet.
& sometimes they don’t even speak,So perfectly do they ‘communicate.’He lives alone, his greatest pleasures areHis pipes, his books, his wife’s behind-Which he will often pinch to hear her laugh;He’s got a perfect love for womankind.He seldom writes, distrusting language asA clumsy tool, unequal to his thoughts:He uses it as rarely as he can(No doubt…
Nature will bear the closest inspection . She invites us to lay our eyes level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain.
The raspberriesin my drivewayhave alwaysbeen here(for the whole eleven yearsI have ownedbut have not ownedthis house),yetI have nevertasted thembefore.Always on a plane.Always in the armsof man, not God,always too busy,too fretful,too worriedto seethat all alongmy drivewayare red, red raspberriesfor me to taste.Shiny and red,without hairs-unlike the berriesfrom the market.Little jewels-I share themwith the birds!On one…
Knowing our lives a drowse
(attended by dogs& children)how can it not matterthat I remember(day after day)that one daywe shall loseeach other,lose the lightsin each other’s eyesto death,& drift offto other universes.Love shall not save usfrom being alone at the end,& the daughter we madein that fine high exuberanceof having found each othershall not save us either.We shall go offinto…
The lover in these poems
the doctor,Love.He appearsas husband, loveranalyst & muse,as father, son& maybe even God& surely death.All this is true.The man you turn toin the darkis many men.This is an open secretwomen share& yet agree to hideas ifthey might thenhide it from themselves.I will not hide.I write in the nude.I name names.I am I.The doctor’s name is Love.