WALKING IN A SPRING DRIZZLE 

Rain shellacs sidewalk. 

Store window mirrors reflect 

my dim shadowed face. 

STAR ON STAR 

your Virtuosa meets my Athlete 

where we latch unlatch and latch 

we touch on touch 

we breath on breath 

we wet on wet, with fold on fold 

among the night’s mighty echoes 

ecstatic/static/attic’s-tick-tick 

each star as perfect as the next 

in the vast topless sky 

“always” we lie on lie 

HORIZONS 

Tomorrow’s moon 

baldandwhite 

at horizon 

hesitates. 

(thunder’s hero, 

the promise) 

Your looking glass 

ghosts linger, 

your memories 

forever 

themselves; and each 

one’s a wave 

and each, a beach 

that it shaves. 

(moonmirror shows 

the menace) 

Dancing like fire 

in the foam, 

you’re a highwire 

thunderstorm! 

(horizon’s coast, 

the phoenix) 

Your poemcandle 

starts to die. 

First it stutters 

then it sighs — 

our darkhidden 

beginnings, 

unforgiven 

endings. 

(yesterday’s ghost, 

the furnace) 

CAKE’S CONSUMED, CANDLE’S EXTINGUISHED, BALLOON’S POPPED OR DEFLATED

This is the first day

of the last year

of my sixth decade.

The best weather, has it pased?

The days of the new moon aren’t done.

There are kisses to come yet

and tequila worms to swallow.

And thus, I turn off the pensive lights.

THE WHY OF POETRY

Medicine men summon the sacred smoke

of sage sweetgrass and cedar.

They unrein the Dream.

And poets compose.

They unmine the mindfield,

incite

insight.