Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Upon Hearing of a Poet I didn't Know had Died was Dead

You know I heard that poet had died
like an actor of any sort
that father used to talk
about as he sliced an apple
or pealed an orange
to share a piece with me.
As we watched TV.
"That is Ray Milland or that is Josephine--
He died, and she is dead" he would say.
I am young, we two are young
as he hands over his collection to me.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Finding this Poem in a Used Bookstore and Reading it

I might not be here with you
the old drum in the mountain

stars living separably apart
eyes blooming out of the hay

likely to sneeze the sleep off the shelf
or the one after that

kindly breaks the void
and free rises in showers

into the warm garage where sits your heart
and my thermometer compact with autumn

that I am as good as watching you now
for all you cannot see me

Visiting James Merrill



If you picture this architecturally
we were both looking through
a two-way mirror at each other
the way one might look
in the morning into his eyes
with heartfelt exploration
He was there alone
before or after the rush of similes
of wit before humans
were to come in and ruin it
no voice, no words
to break the law of silence
no voice, no words, but poetry
suspended and we looked
from between the bookshelves
at each other and then up at it.


All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon on your young sandy face the weight of the stars the body tasting like snow a slipcover of communic...