Maybe I should view this pen
the way my cat sees it,
As she tries over and over
to pluck it away with her velvet paws
from my hesitant grasp,
in some game she has invented
simply to pass the morning
in joy.



----------------------------------
Haiku version:
While I see a pen
my house cat, a game of joy:
robbery with velvet paws

Five girls speak softly in
Puzzle-pieced clouds of the morning sky---
Their words fit together slowly,
but beautifully.

Sharing handshakes of humor,
they are tranquil topaz melting white.

Dreams of love like sunsets on their lips
A question tiptoes
toward confidence
glowing on the horizon.

And a Nor'easter wind of boys blows by,
blustering with force, and no subtlety,
Unsure of their strength  
to shift and shape the climate
of the high school hallway.

Just look outside, on a spring morning,
It's obvious that clouds are fascinated by the wind.

Laughter falls in rain
From the girls, scattered like clouds.
The boys stop, drenched and confused.

Rolling up his sleeves
in waves of watery time,
He unfurls fists
across the sand:

The old man's hands
outstretched
to bless the shore.

You are shelves holding the books, alphabetized and happy.
You are the ink soaked in the page.
Outdoors, you are the sea chasing the shore.
You are also the glowing candle flame at dusk,
bright and encumbered by no darkness.

However, you might be interested to know
You are not the broken window,
nor are you the dog's yipping bark
through the screen door.
You could never possibly be the
dog's bark.

Instead, you are the thin, glassy waves polishing the shore,
You are the steel bridge between two lands,
You might even be the sleeping apples, tucked inside the pie.
I am quite sure you are also the handshake between two strangers,
as well as the writing on this page.

You should also know that, in all the plentiful imagery of the world,
I am the needle crackling on the vinyl record.
I am also the artist's filthy paintbrush.
I can also be, at times, the tea steeped too long,
and of course, I am the postcard, en route.

But you--you are the cobalt sea at midnight, snuggled to the shore,
You are the coffee-colored shelf supporting the books,
and somehow also, the ink imprinted on the page.

Weighs like
a tear drop sliding down pale white,
a dappled stone I found on Sanibel Island,
sunk down, deep in my pocket.

Perhaps weighs like
time:
heavy with silence
soaked in emotion,
like colored dye bleeding into white linens.

Yes, a word weighs like
time, and time weighs like stones,
I strain to hold in my palms the encumbering moment,
after you utter,
"Look, Liz, I have to be
Honest."

And you caste the word like a rock
into the lake
and watch it fall
deep, deep, deep
weighed down.

A stone that remains sunk still
in my pocket.

Sway seconds ecstatic bliss
The taste of lime and salt
Skin glows, criss crossed shadows
and a panic of lights.

Shifting music
Rhythm intoxication and
Shifting energy

Boldness alights
like a flock of crows gliding in at dusk,
landing on the shoulders
cast in neon-disco light

They fan feathered-dollar bills
With prospects of revelry and dancing
odes to debauchery and youth
and feigning adoration
from the swaying, neon hips.

Subtle chants and hungry eyes
We deserve this
We deserve this
We deserve--

Disappearing in her act,
She arises, in the fame of a dove
Unburdened and free
in the whitest of lights.

She thinks briefly of flying away.

Mi alma no puedo estirarse
alrededor el mundo y continúa igual.
Las olas del mar son como bestias
y están atacándome con el espíritu del pasado.
Del espíritu pesado, con dudas.

Regresa el alma a mi cuerpo,
en el mitad de la tierra linda,
Pero lejos del mar, en el viento nuevo,
la única ola es el césped fértil.
La tierra canta de una promesa desconocida.

Pero su forma de ser no me toca.
No caigo la canción, no tiene sentido la tierra: negra y oscura, será congelada pronto.
Sin claridad del hielo
ni cielo.

No quiero tener dudas.
No quiero buscar mi juventud en los árboles,  
En el año de mi niñez.
Nunca jamás encuentro a mi mismo en las ramas marrones, sino en tus ojos morenos.

Mi cuerpo me duele para tí
Como los árboles esperan el viento otoñal.
Los días me pasan como hojas del árbol otoñal,
Se fueron. Se fueron.
Me voy. Me fui.

¿Cómo es posible que las dudas me dejen?
Que mi alma anciana vieja en el mar *******,
Hasta me da cuento que mi corazón ya haya estado cerca
en las manos tuyos,
como un regalo
en dos hojas otoñales.