Beautiful

5/26/11

Beautiful

‘Beautiful’:

 Used,

Translated, synonymized

With anything

Everything

That is under the sun –

The juice of the word

Wrung out

As from a fruit,

Its shell dripped dry.

Orange,

The word is dry.

But I try

And compare her skin,

Radiant, like an orange

-    She is the orange sun -

And love,

Infinite
Juice.

In the Library

5/25/11

In the Library

I lifted a book and opened the gate

To the world behind black ink –

To soar with Hopkins and a windhover,

 Explore lush Brazil with Bishop,

 And to fly with words

Over a clean white sky.

And if I turned my head and looked

Over the mountainous shelves of books,

I saw others dribbling their pens

Like basketballs,

Their eyes behind wide glasses –

Who knows what worlds they roam?

And looking back, before the mountain,

I saw old Stevens, old and tired,

Sleeping on a book’s green cover,

Dreaming of trees.

Koltushi

5/24/11

Koltushi

Under the blue sky of Russia

My brother and I sat on the boardwalk,

Legs dangling, dilly dallying,

Fishing with jars for tadpoles

In the coolest bluest lake

Of Koltushi,

Under the blue sky of Russia.

Under the blue sky of Russia

My brother and I built palaces

Of leaves for the snails,

And stuck grass mustaches

On their faces,

Grooming even snails into beauty

Under the beautiful, oh beautiful

Blue sky of Russia.

In Koltushi

My brother and I ran free in the green

Woods and searched for mushrooms in the grass

To throw into the basket

Like wet trophies.

Koltushi,

Your name makes my heart warm

As my tears freeze.

Sleep

5/24/11

Sleep

Sleep, late at night,

Crawls and curls its silver self like a smoke

Breathing warm warm breath

Down your spine.

Sleep, at night,

Comes smooth as a skater

Gliding over warm warm water,

Shining in the sun –

It comes in waves

Tall waves of warm warm water

That do not crash down,
But settle soft in the sand

As you raise your blanket

And drown in its curls.

Walking in Fog at Night

5/22/11

Walking in Fog at Night

Light penetrates the fog:

Bright yellow fingers

Reach through the fog

At billowing branches of trees,

Shivering shadow fingers

Reaching for the light.

Tiny green tipped blades of grass,

Black in the night,

Tip their tongues towards the sky

And kiss the stars,

Bright yellow freckles

Of the shivering sky.

You offer a sound to the silence

Of the milky air

And hear your “hello” join with its echo

And you know now

That it is only you

Alone.