30 March 2015



Mid-March returned with
Grey pearl sky of elsewhere summer
Familiar, the opaque murky essence of it,
Parceled into neat rectangles
Each window framing the same melancholy hue.

A solitary hawk who lives nearby,
Frequent companion of my cloistered awakenings
Today flew out of view, then reappeared
Circling the oak, anticipating,
Its predatory lenses no doubt mapping
Configurations of branches
That will spread open soon,
Greening at mild weather's touch
And filling in the barren view.
The raptor seems indifferent;
Nature gives inadequate camouflage
To unsuspecting game.

Warmth beneath the bedclothes
Chases the morning cold, causes
My limbs to stretch, my fingertips to idle
Where there is shivering flesh,
But I lack desire for lingering
Inside this sterile chamber.
As I shift to rise
My quivering is but a product
Of the season's chill.


I gazed off the starboard bow
My view contained merely
By the breeze of sea and sky.
Elusive like mist, mysterious as dreams,
Remembrances floated past me.   
From the steel blue of the depth and height
"Is this what you are looking for?" I heard

As hands receive and as hands give,
Hands break.
Seconds of time drift in slow motion
At the memory of an impermeable clasp
In touching there is healing.
In touching, without touching, suffering occurs.
The falcon beak emerges from its hiding place
To attack, to handicap,
To deny; all damage is equal in cost
It is dear each degree of loss.


Beyond the bedroom walls
My garden lies in winter ruin.
I contemplate what needs pruning
While still it spins overhead,
Gliding with assurance
As though mocking my hesitant steps.
Its wingspan fully extended, it swerves,
Descending in swiftness to mangle,
Slicing into with perfectly formed claws:
An overpowering, unimpaired predator.


The chaste huntress and the luscious cunt
I have killed them. 
All goddesses, their rhapsodizing gods, have fallen; 
One day I realized and sent them away.
Their images aren't painted on my walls
Their names are yellowing on the page
I don't deserve untruths.

Speeding westward, I gazed at waves
Set on fire by the evening sun.
I too could burn now,
I had earned my own flames,
My phoenix,
My inviolate gift.


I am spinning, but I am not a predator.
Strange things love can do,
Reversing the natural order.
Spinning, spinning, spinning
Till I fall off the roundness of the earth.

It's alright, hush, hush, and quietly
Rest beloved mine, my love.
Never now, even if you never need me
My eyes drink you in,
Your eyes ever luminous  
I want to know the taste,
The scorching flavor on
That slight curve of your upper lip