The Reading

And sometimes I dream

of being asked to read my poetry

at a very fine college.

I am picked up at the airport

or the train station

because of my poetic

disposition or for fear of flying

by a young poet too

who is full of nothing

but little bits of beauty

I enjoy the car ride.

I look out and see the landscape

I even think of a few lines

and jot them down
they will make a fine poem someday

I am well received
by the muffled voices as I pass
I have a wonderful dinner

and I don't have to pay

for any of it.

I meet the other poets

who teach there

and find we have a common friend
I tell them they have
found a good way to make a living.

I feel my ego rise like the head

of a giraffe, but when I understand

this I become quiet.

I give a good reading
I even have some good liner notes
which surprises me

I teach a class filled with admonishment

I sign my book
and the several others
that I have published.

the people at the college

are happy and say

they will invite me back.

Tossed

Tonight I
am tossed

by the great wave

It has thrown me

to where I

cannot tell

I know it

but I do not

know it

it has thrown

its waters into my mouth

and choked me
with its emptiness

I cannot fill it
with mud nor sand

but heavy silt

deposits in the branches

of the lungs and

brittle stars have taken

up residence until
I am as indistinguishable

as a shoal to a boat
When the tides change

my bones bleach like shells

poking through the sand

my heart cannot save it

nor can I fill or hold it.

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.

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.

Universal Memories

It was nature repeating itself

The rain began to fall
I forgot you were in it

It was that you
were not yet a something

Regardless we wouldn't encourage others
to do it

We even left instructions
on how not to do it again

How we were setting the stage
for awkwardness knowing

that it would be awkward
tapping the mic to set up the awkward

look and awkward laugh
whose intent was to relieve

the awkwardness
and to further set up

Something that wasn't expected until
we were actually doing it

Then the moment when
we were actually doing it

Because the door was already open
And we are entering the house

to create what we will be saying
Almost like a hello

Neutron Star

I was looking for a room to rent
and answered an ad from the Collegian
It was in a house off campus
It had been raining and the leaves
were flat against the sidewalk.
They were flat against the bottom of my shoes
and when I walked into to the house I
struggled to pull them off like someone
trying to find edge on a roll of Syrian wrap.
The woman had lived there since she was a child
She was young but her dress and her hair,
and her gloves were old.
She showed me photos
of her mother who had passed recently
and that was why she had a room to rent.
Her mother's room.  The photos were of her
mother standing next to the mantle.
And another in the driveway.
And another in the kitchen
making their favorite cake
marsh-mellow almond.
I suppose it is hard losing
someone so close to you.
I walked by the living room
where a haze hung around a lamp
The air was old.  It smelt like
it came from old lungs.
She asked me,
"Do you like it here?"  The dust
hung heavy on the cushions like
the material on a neutron star.
The earth was heavy and my feet were heavy.
"We can go shopping, for groceries soon."
she said. I felt I was being pushed
out from a funnel. I was spinning.
That a white hot blast of air was behind me.
"When can you move in?" she asked.
"Soon." I said.
Nowadays she calls me once or twice
a month to ask me when I am going
to stop by and sign the lease.
"Soon." I say.
And sometimes I see a number on my phone
it pops up out of the blackness of my screen
At first nothing happens
but then when I know who is calling
a heaviness sinks deep inside of me
deep to the thickness of who I am.
I let it go until it is virtually undetectable
weighed down by my unsigned hand.