You can send me fractions.
The shattered pagoda of memory blasts
Back into place and the splinters
Spiral into a soft round kiss.
We’re half shade and half sun
And never fully half, holding
A hymn hands can’t tear
To pieces, or sing solely.
Conversations (II – to a headache)
You promise you will never leave me.
All day I have been trying to locate grief
And all day you have been trying to convince me
Grief and pain are the same.
If grief leaves me I will know
I have lost something vital to happiness.
So keep your promise and leave
The one I love. I’ll keep you here on call
Like a substitute teacher outside
An empty room you’ll never see.
I have to learn quiet again,
I told the yellow grass
By the library’s stone wall.
The sun shimmered,
Not understanding. November
Shrugged and disrobed.
Leaves left on the trees on a sub-freezing late November evening
Eyes closed against the wind, holding a deep breath
Until it warms, I still hear the midsummer breeze
Third Saturday in November
The temperature dropped thirty degrees
Between cups of coffee.
I dreamed my daughters were snowboarding away
Into the future. Then I was made of snow
And they had made me.
The pen you
Gave ran out
Of ink and I
ran out of words
The curve of its light on your thigh’s a river,
My heartbeat a cragged peak
And valley path it’s carved
Through fifteen hundred weeks