Waiting to remember theorems,
isthmuses, and litmus tests,
I dozed through school
and dawdled home where
the parent wars went on
in an arsenal of booze.
I couldn't hear, they woke
geared to fight.
Day after day, [...]
The amputated branches
of plane trees in France
make good use of time
and live in French events.
Shine, pretty sun.
Rain, snow, the seedcase
of stars are embedded in
a memory of reaching farther out
than wanted by the town.
When my mother mulls on the nature
of angels, ether, and clouds, I put
down my fork and study a fly,
its wingtips on my mutton chop,
before me a stack of plates to be
wiped clean like words on a slate.
Even in silence as I do the work,
I lose an argu [...]
I have set out to meet her
for a last time, to examine
a face that resembles mine
in one corner above the right eye
and in a temple vein.
Fontainebleau, Tours, Poitiers,
Angoulême. The train feeds
the voyager a dream of calm.
My mother and father, t [...]
The day you brought me geraniums,
my period came. That night I had a red dream,
red walls, lamps. You were a photographer
in a darkroom developing shots I couldn't
quite make out. I asked you how you balanced
opposing needs. You shrugged [...]
Mice, be off, and timid days.
I sing of wolves and wolverines
in a circling dance.
My waiting time on the hill
is a tremor before the dance begins,
and I sing: Love's no mother bear
pawing the light in a river of stars,
it will dig no winter den.