VOLCANO

Nowdawn. When this

grayed welldone sky

resumes to rare,

and – sudden flare! —

awakes my wife’s

night-dormant kiss.

SOLSTICES

(after Hwang Jini)

Take one half the night

of the shortest winter day

and wrap it in your arms,

a prudent negligee

to unfold one brief summer night

when you hold me in your arms.

WE GAMBLERS OF FATE ARE PLAYED BY THE JUGGLERS OF TIME

The silence of echoes is too loud to hear.

The excess deer were culled

before the hunt was closed.

We race toward that precipice we screened ourselves from.

Lazarus’ miracle

just delayed the dust.

We are partners of the same condition.

Though odds up and fall

our lots have been tossed.

The future always lies to us, but so does the past.

You get the apple

filling – You get the crust.

Paths twist and twist no matter which we pick.

You get the pedestal–

and You get the bust.

Rivers have many tributaries but only one result.

You get the sadist’s fuel,

You the holocaust.

JOINT MANEUVERS

Di dandles her tea like any grande dame

and she handles her whiskey as well

as a man.

I was a sergeant in the cavaliers.

I prized my targets

and my bandoleer,

my spurs

and my plume.

A chest of medals occupied

my room, none claimed in battle.

Di was a waitress.

She wanted to stop pretending princess

rise top.

and to the

One with ambition seeks one with regret.

“To starve the kitchen, feed a cook’s credit.”

One day when marching my tattoos

and flutes,

my eyes kept watching Di’s

bonnet and boots.

My parade dismissed,

this hungry soldier,

Sir Knight on a quest,

double-timed over to where she still stood.

As fierce

and as free

as fire from a woods,

Di saluted me

with crisp precision.

I saluted her back

stiff at attention–

never felt the flac

exploding

inside.

The wounded man

wed the ambushing bride.

And I never fled

the combat that came.

My new purple heart

marked my

rise to fame

and Di’s

state of art.

As I rose in rank it was her mission

to protect my flank and her position.

One with ambition

needs

one with regret.

“To starve the kitchen, feed a cook’s credit.”

Di’s deft riding crop

urges her stallion to boldly gallop

beyond battalions.

BELLY/MIND

Sponge draws, stone withstands

inspiration rains.

A formlessness hides

undiscovered forms;

imagination

is the belly’s mind.

Stars reign in darkness.

To pay heaven court,

astronomer’s scope

always magnifies

observatories.

But when the mind fasts,

it’s inspiration

that’s the mind’s belly.

Palaces empty

without their nobles —

poor indeed are those

whose poems outnumber

their inspirations

…