Bovine-like, we shall meet our deaths
(Such is the scythe the reaper wields)
No matter that the final breaths
Come in stockyards or placid fields.
A slight rustle, perhaps, we’ll feel
At the loss of our distant kin;
Another gear, another wheel.
Oh well—that’s life—come on, tuck in.

What, then, shall be the epitaph?
No bromide written in some stone,
One would hope, for this life once shone
In a mother’s eyes, father’s laugh
Which still flower in memories
And vexes all our reveries.

The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.

The moon was coming up
right over there the last
time they took you away
as I double~crossed myself
with the holy water
you swam in from the bath
though the ***** my break
the earth, but never your spell
remembering the sounds
you made when I touched you
the way you wanted me to
like a ***** loon at night
flying over a salt lake
and how you could sing
when you played the guitar
I would drown in your voice
like the river you crossed
and I will keep our troth
I swear as sure as that stone
over there I will learn to play
your rosewood guitar
cross my heart and hope to die.

If I were a watch man
I'd grab the moon and
put it in my pocket, man
take it out every now and then
and ask him O moon
is it time yet to give up
the ghost of my past loves
whose paths I've long crossed
lost and missed my chance
since the crows have danced
and left tracks with their feet
cut deep into my cheekbones
but I've never owned a watch
it's true (believe it or not)
or cared to know the time
and the moon looks just fine
shining up there in the sky
such a scene to be seen
instead of stuck in a pocket
of my old gray faded jeans.

I hauled clay
for days
to fill the deep
washout of our love
and all your old loves
who bled to death
too, I even searched
the cold evenings
of your eyes
and ran my fingers
through your moonlight
while tasting the blood
of strangers on your lips
but I would have
to have a backhoe
and a crowbar
to finally get down
to the heart
of the matter at night
and in the rain
though I'm afraid
I would only find
a deep dark cave
with blind starfish
like those I see
swimming in
the cold sky tonight.