Wasp

wasp

Wasp

Outward, the quest for
space and the wings’

hunger to unfold and
shed this home of dark
flesh and encompassing desire.

And each thing remembered, the broken
sheath, the flowering desert’s return,

reflects the notion of being, of intent
in action and its corollary,

the gift of living through death.

* * *

“Wasp” first appeared here in October 2015.

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Morning Covers You

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Morning Covers You

1

We extract
light, bleeding
it out one

diamond-shaped
hole after
another.

Finger the results.
Remediation
in form

or placement
to best
advantage?

At night
loneliness cradles
our bones.

2

You arrange our bodies to greater effect,
presuming lesser horrors
to be less.

A list emerges.
Refuting one,
accepting another.

Choices fixed.
Ecstasies of failure
purged.

Morning covers you
like a blue
shroud, so pale.

So cold
and bitter.

This originally appeared in Boston Poetry Magazine in April, 2014, and on this blog in October 2015.

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Nocturne (Blue Grosbeak)

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Nocturne (Blue Grosbeak)

Why tremble
when nothing
arrives to be seen?

The architecture
of the day
comes and goes

in the same
heartbeat,
a disturbance

more felt than heard.
But listen.
The grosbeak sings

his presence
and departs,
leaving behind

the echo
of a motion
blending with night.

The air is cool.
A leaf utters
its own message

and falls
unnoticed.
Nothing awaits it.

 

This first appeared in February 2015.

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Shutters XI

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The eleventh of a series of twelve written at a shuttered window. Originally published in the anthology Terra Firma in 2004, and posted here in 2014.

Shutters XI

Witness the blade’s completed arc,
or hailstones brought to earth,
acts refined and balanced in delivery,

the results, specious. The sweet
onion, too, relies on caution, but once
halved loses the attractive measure of

entirety, the unseen grace exposed,
reverting to a core, and deeper,
within the layered heart, laid to rest.

That it may end, and in return, begin anew.

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Shutters VII

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The seventh of a series of twelve. Originally published in the anthology Terra Firma in 2004.

Shutters VII

Wherein the glass changes hands and becomes
framed, failing, without reference
to resolve the internal process:

solid to liquid, the uncertain union
rendered in the idiom of
illumination, one’s transparent shade responding

to light, another’s subsumed, joined in
the essential plight of taste and
taster, preceding the other, but lost, alone.

From eye to lip, the inevitable differs.

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Shutters VI

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The sixth of a series of twelve written at a shuttered window. Originally published in the anthology Terra Firma in 2004, with a reappearance on this blog in 2014.

Shutters VI

For instance, the pear blossom’s coiled
descent, whispering its way to the
earth, or a cold spiracle

releasing air in time to present a new flower,
the exhalation entwined and open
like a small door to a place the sun won’t

touch, the center trembling and pale.
The between, the interval of now and
now brought to fruition. A sudden thought.

What carries it aloft cannot be held.

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