Uncategorized

image/angel

lydia’s face     a purple kite

above lakeside olive

groves     by the lake

of the dead     open

to eclipse

waiting on her sons     wears their absence as

a necklace

laugh at what

what       to laugh     to what

to laugh

what       laugh     what is there to laugh

about

back at home

she’ll wind a clock

from the judgment

realm     tick away

her pain in step

with footfalls

under the

floorboards

Uncategorized

last in series

drink the seaside road, drink the dusk

and follow chain lightning.

or instinctive memory

of flare, of careless sighting. for sun.

for afternoon’s low-slung fog

as our humid breath puddles the road.

we walk tangled with worry

and tied in loose knots.

under a drowning moon struggle

to bind the books of childhood.

the last pages are turned. the last umber words.

with fashionable howls they make us

forget the concept of names,

the naming of objects requiring a name,

the objects themselves.

we forget the sea still damping our

shoes, forget the soft curve of a baby’s

wide eyes. forget churches melting under

the sand. their salt-stained walls. their

soft particles of tide.