This woman I know
quite the old hippie
gave me this lovely gift

A softened silk and denim dress
Folded loosely
just handed to me, unwrapped
(We felt the same about the waste of paper)
“This is for you.”
Opening it, I saw its gentle gathers from the shoulders
almost elegant, its drape
and the rough
but soft and dark of it
Real indigo dye
with silk laces from bust to waist

...then the tiny stitching...
NO!
Not by machine!
Knew the labor was – intensive
Every edge
was finished, sewn
by her caring hand!

"Oh, lady of my dream

whom I do not know
I THANK YOU!
From my soul"
I would have made this in another life –
time
of hope and longing

And then I saw that seam!
along the side
that wasn't... really...
just those thicker threads
a silk macrame
of knotted net
so –  bold
to hold that one inch open
to hint at nothing –
and everything –
in between

“Oh hell! Oh ****!
Does it come with an occasion??!!”
She smiled
somewhere between shy and sly

1.

I will baptize the sky
with new waters,
washing the Birger Sandzen pink
from the clouds.

Cattle reject their reflection in farm ponds.
Trees turn their backs to the horizon and bow.

Indigo night. Angular lights in the distance:
Freight train roars. Empty cars
headed northward.

       2.

I will baptize the Earth
with new fire,
scorching stubble and sod
from the Plains.

Cattle nudge clods of dirt for sweet tendrils.
Trees shape words, but can no longer spell.

Charcoal cairns point the way to deep furrows.
Growing pains. Orange flames
headed nowhere.

       3.

I will baptize my heart
with new poetry,
spilling villanelles
into my veins.

Cattle low for soft yodels from cowboys.
Trees sashay to the solos of birds.

Rosy-fingered dawns in my songs? I sail elsewhere.
Orange, blue. Twilight hues
headed homeward.

(After Cavafy)

The sun flattens your vision
   to a wavering point.
      You search for a different sun.
         There is no other.


The wind stymies your breathing
   to an asthmatic wheeze.
      You search for a different wind.
         There is no other.


The sea shortens your journey
   to an anonymous port.
      You search for a different sea.
          There is no other.


The sky opens its vistas,
   vast, beyond your reach.
      You search for a different sky.
         There is no other.


The city blots your horizon
   with soot, smoke and ash.
      You search for a different city.
         There is no other.
 
The day dissolves in hours
   without number or name.
      You search for a different day.
         There is no other.


Beauty upholds its ideal
   like a statue without wings.
      You search for a different Beauty.
         There is no other.


The word pollinates the page
   with a frail, feeble sense.
      You search for a different word.
          There is no other.


The self mirrors the cosmos,
   a contracting black hole.
      You search for a different self.
          There is no other.


The poem laughs at your yearning
   for Art’s Eternal Form.
      You search for a different poem.
          There is no other.


So you write the same poem
   from the same shrinking self,
      with the same weakling words,
         seeking the same ideal Beauty,
 
On the same day after day,
    in the same ***** city,
      under the same endless sky,
         beside the same aimless sea,


Into the same stifling wind,
   blinded by the same soulless sun.
      And you call it a different life.
          But there is no other.

The streets of Rome swirl with ***** water.
My clothes drenched, my shoes soiled
By this unholy baptism of nature’s fury.
The Watchmaker sleeps.
The heavens fail to answer, protect.
Behind us, the Colosseum circles broken time
In fragments: blood, sand and stone.
Sacrificed to the elements, we resist
Our fate, resist defeat.
Blue skies hide their faces
Behind *****, distorted mirrors.
Nothing to see here. Only
Rain falls like tears. Only
Tears fall like rain.
Dry land does not exist
Except elsewhere. Dystopia.
Here, curbside, umbrellas sagging,
Italy drowns.

You clutch a dazzling pink rose
In front of the Spanish Steps.
The last of the day, bartered
For a bag of M&Ms.
No money changes hands.
No promises kept.
No way to go but headlong
Into the crowds.
Tramping on tourists, staring at horses,
Thinking Poesy past the Keats House,
Piazza di Spagna 26.
Life mask, death mask.
Walls of poetical works bound
In shiny green leather.
Romanticism dies on the short, striped bed,
A sleigh ride to the Elysian Fields.
Awake to sweet unrest.
Here is my ode
To a rose not fading unto death.
Bright colors of the Steps.
No struggle for a breath.

Why did we go out this night
Got a feeling something's not right
We should of stayed in bed
What was going through our heads .
Walking in the park after midnight
Not so wise if it gives us a fright.
The hooting sound of an owl
A cunning fox on the prowl.
Feeling scared and week at the knees
The creaking branches from leafless trees
The silence is daunting not a soul insight
We should have never gone out so late at night.
Did you see that shadow there ?
To be very honest it gave me scare
It is time to leave and get out of here
Just like a leaf I am shaking with fear.
I hear footsteps on the path
Let's move ahead and not look back
Listen to that eerie laugh
Something is creepy in this park.
Well To tell you the truth I  told you a lie
We never really went out this night
We never even left our bed
This was all a dream inside my head.

The untouachable stars twinkle and above the stream
They glisten as do a thousand diamonds
The stream gently flows as does silk through hands
Although cold, it refreshes and soothes all who embrace it

A cool breeze lifts you up into the sky
You see the treetops as reminders that there is more above
Each tree slowly waving goodbye through the wind
All the constellations greet you with a sparkle

The nocturnal animals come out and play in what is thought to be the dead of night
They sing and dance for the joy of life
The animals truly appreciate the wonders of night

At first there is silence
By listening closer you hear the insects
The insects despite demonization enjoy the night as well
Fireflies light up the area while cicadas play their song
You may also hear the howling winds
One would say they are haunting
If you truly listen you hear momentous stories
The stream speaks nonsense expecting you to interpret it into beauty

The night smells of what can only be described as relaxation
Some say it's cool like a frozen pond
Others will exclaim it is that of fresh dew condensing

Whatever it is to you is opinion
Every opinion of smell, sight, or hearing is correct nonetheless
The night is wondrous
Some choose to slumber come nocturne
You can find me in awe at the beauty of what is simply known as night

she was)

The vessel embarking at the sudden light

Empty as an infant

The eyes, the windows
The sonar, the ears
The propeller, the legs
The hull, the skin
Equpped with hands to grip and collect
Drifting into the great unknown

(She stirred)

The vessel predisposed to doldrums
basking in the sun's golden light
Mother moon at night
taking the vessel in

In warm embrace

The vessel learning from experience
storing its hurts, resentments,
sorrows, regrets
fears and guilts
in the hold

Susceptible to changing weather
And lightning strikes announcing who
she is

This vessel voyages the seas of time

Forming beliefs about self
telling stories and reminiscing

(She headed to the bathroom
Couldn't help it
Was so into the dream
Tried to keep it with her,
eyelids half shut
The vessel on the high seas)

(She dreamt)

The vessel was stuck at the Cape
Rockin and rollin
in waves of self pity
hanging on to the mast for dear life

Dear life.

Remembering
Deep love
Slices of delight
Happiness coming
The weather calm.

(She awoke with a start
Her breath taken away
"What a strange night"
She had to say,
The moon was setting
Dawn's twilight had not yet begun
She searched the high seas)

The vessel reached its port of call,
It had weathered many storms

The hold was bursting with forlorn
she carries with her,
in every breath she takes,

And, she proceeds -
proceeds to disembark

Fully alive, arriving at her destination

(Awakening, she is in a mood,
her dream, the waterway to the moon,
The vessel remained
The dream had ended too soon
As all wonderful dreams tend to do

The alarm clock went off,
She thought about calling in sick
She got on the computer
Started looking for ports of call.

I am full of holes
just like a good cheese