It’s the last time, I swear, except this time I mean it. The last time I mourn Kate so hard I don’t eat, unless you consider alcohol a meal. The last time I drive drunk the five miles to Chuck’s house, at midnight, despondent, disheveled, swigging Stoli…
Of strangers is luminous, the way
We wish well for the man who lost
His car keys, the woman coming in
Out of the rain, the girl who missed
Her bus, the boy who stutters.
A child is something else again. Wakes up
in the afternoon and in an instant he’s full of words,
in an instant he’s humming, in an instant warm,
instant light, instant darkness.
ahead and in my rearview
winged souls drift by
Let them, in their fixation,
make one song from a thousand bodies.
There was a room in Antwerp I loved so much
I never filled it with books, a bed, or a table.
It was alive with its own clarity
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be…
Faith is a tattered blanket in this age
of fear: a drape of old skin, soul’s girth
swelling with sugar-song, a late-stage
hymn soldering heaven to earth
And, proud of what my art had done,
I viewed my painting, knew the great
Of marble, water, steel and slate.
In the Serengeti four elephants rest without heads,
bodies rising like boulders from the plain…