Glass Curves

She is receding

the memory in the dark

panels of hardwood

walls speckled

ceiling

altered, hung with

shadowed bulbs

broken

filaments

bouncing round the glass

curves

drifting slowly past

through walls

dwindling, receding

turning inward

forgetful

Vivaldi Summer

Vivaldi summer

horizon boils over

and over, replaced

endless succession

pure grace refilling the lamp

beneath the bowl

of clouds

The Year Ends (Mononucleosis)

And growing silently tall
in the deep snow, the oaks said,
And women?

Quietly, I gathered the snow in my hands
as, silently, the ground reached up
to brush the tips of my fingers.

And the oaks, astonished, lowered their leaves
to wreath me in a falling crown of gold.

In(carnation)

Opalescent glass
softly diffuses the light
as it enters the bulb,

spreading carnations
across the walls, covering
the surface inside.

A Tree of Dry Leaves (An Orchard Warmth)

Sinking, the pomegranate jewel dissolves
in an orchard warmth, extinguishing
among the dark roots of the good leaves
lining the curve of the bowl.

I do not want it to sink and die.
I want to keep it long alive and watch it
burrow through the stones and wood,
the endless lines of pipes and wires,
until this wet globe splinters from its core,
a dry leaf, an old ornament,
a long-forgotten fragment
reeling in the avalanche of space!

Drifting, the jewel settles
and falls along its course,
sinking into the rift between my hands
and my impenetrable hope,
burning until I break from the center,
a tree of dry leaves, an ancient ornament
dropped at the foot of a blank and ageless wall;
shattered and burned,
rising on the air, utterly still,
entirely at peace in the carrying throes
of the complete freedom
of emptiness.

A Piercing Luminance (A Soft Door)

It certainly seems that Lily will never bloom again,

God will never be resurrected from my death

and the light is gone forever.

I never saw the light die.

I saw the obscuring grief gather,

and it took to the edges first,

slowly absorbing my center,

which shone till the last, as if to say

"Do not forget, never despair, remember!"

I saw a naked statue today, her smooth stone body reminding,

her promises concealed by perfect vines.

Her body spoke virtues: sacrifice, gentle forgiveness,

an invitation and a healing love.

God awakes in my body,

a piercing luminance breaks through for a moment,

a secret blossom trembles in the leaves.

Stay, my hope from God! Beloved,

guard yourself for me: unfold, enfold, in season.

These seasons never last, and Spring is close.

So begins lovemaking,

when my hope folds in the edges

of the world upon me,

closing a soft door on the past.

Clean Edges, Tall Glass

I appreciate tall windows with clean edges,

as I love beautiful women in passing on the streets.

Clean edges, tall glass, what do they know?

I look through them; they never see what I see,

unless the light glows from my side of the pane

and the other side shines darkness.

But windows aren't windows

in that case;

they're mirrors.

Women are mirrors, mostly.

Their bulbs burn out too quickly,

especially when they hang down

from the basement ceiling

on a wire,

without a lampshade.