Third Storm

Rain screams towards earth, her sixth bad dream of the month wakes us both, a wild wind shakes the porch, it’s an angry unfed visitor wired like a bobcat in late July, scrawny and ever vigilant for strips, such thin scraps of flesh or mere attention, it knows in its cold bones affection is out of the question. Weather never cares whether anyone ever arrives home through dark reflecting streets to the fireplace, cozy thick quilt, the unasked expectancies.

Where?

where is the burnished coin,

ancient yet priceless in its

simple pure roundness, now

that the rain is not pounding

groundward?

A single butterfly simply kisses

such a willowy dune of sand, as

a watchful wind from the deep north

sings of rain, woman and man.

A Good-Bye, Before The Next Hello

Today's the first day of flowers and figs,

of Brazilian Pepper Trees scrawny

not big, and of scrubbing old floors

down on both aching knees,

(but happily not my good luck),

my sore back drugged like a junkie

who lives in the alley out there, it's

here in this empty apartment that I'm

stoned on ibuprofen galore,

I've walked and I've sat on this old hardwood

and tile reading books of poems and art,

now and again a political tome, stared at

the computer screen for too long a while,

it's here I've penned much of my own poetic

lines, whose feelings and words whispered

freedom and fullness like nothing else has,

and what's true for sure is that this floor

stuck thick with three years of greasy

grime waits my attention this morn as I

clench my cracked knuckles and jaw full

of joy, green sponge laden with Ajax and

Comet and Mr.Clean

(Donner and Blixen seem to have flown

this scene, as quite soon I shall as well),

and it's all happening, thank God, in 3/4 time!

?

Is Melba toast,

have you lost

your neighbor

yet, you know

the lusty waif

next door who

moaned scary

and turned poor

Ray half crazy,

as you elbow

and grin big

on your way

home to the

green hilltop

street of the

most spacious

song ('El Canto')

where there's

more room,

more beauty

for lazing

and loving

on longer

afternoons

and what's best,

lots of ground

to plant a tree

or three down

deep into ?

Flag Day

She knew, oh my, just how

and where to touch his fancy,

you know, that worldly place

not secret--oft unspoken--right

there inside where a real girl

gets her guy unfurled, but good.

Ithaca

to simply sit

in pure silence

is not often

easy nor

instantly

pleasing

to become diffuse

purplish tint

from one

broken blue

berry oozing

on new

fallen snow

and for just

a small

spare

moment

if the soft

descending

lacework of

grace enters

this empty

bare room

you may slip

from the

addictive

bonds

of your

stooped

tired self

and become

no one at all

with nothing

to tell, no

branded

goods to

market

or sell

and then

know down

in your bones

the comfort

the freedom

of having

finally landed,

of being

truly at

home.