1
A poem tells me
when it wants
more space
or a bell.
If it’s still dreaming,
it wants no title.
2
The river runs
cold and deep.
No one knows
you are crying.
3
There are curves
no hand or eye
dares to circle,
sweep of swans.
4
A child tugs on my sleeve
to pull me back to earth.
The moon is rising.
5
Branches bare of leaves,
the moon hangs in the balance.
A lone night bird sings.
6
The leaves are falling.
We are brothers
in this wind.
7
Where once
I gathered lilies,
now a path,
east and west.
8
Is it me
you embrace
or these flowers
that bloom
in winter?
9
There’s a panther
in the mirror.
Be yourself, I cried.
The blood is mine,
no chance
to wake
or sleep it off
10
Life, shot
from a bow,
hits
its mark,
a dying breath.
11
See an old man smile.
That’s all that’s left.
With eyes like his
rain will fall.
12
Beneath the pond
the geese are flying
above the sky,
so near the sun.
13
It’s but a drop of rain,
yet it dissolves the sky
and the stars.
14
A daughter?
It’s not to be.
I’ve searched my heart,
but, like truth,
the room is empty.
15
I look out at the sky falling
and know my day is done.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll find
the sun beneath my pillow.
16
I am the river you drift upon:
A father falls, a child is born, a mother’s love.
17
for Mateo
The seasons wait in line
or come all at once.
Here a boy already old,
bent in two, spins
the wheel, young
in winter,
dreams of hunting
18
The silences
of trees and flowers
teach us
to listen better.
19
In the Beginning was the Word
Fish leap from the clouds,
Birds burst from your eyes.
20
You’ll never catch up with your dreaming
an algorithm, not a cure for dying.
It rides a horse of sweet unknowing.