The Boats at Bay

Two rows of houses diverged from a bay.
I could not see to both sides
and decide which I admired most,
and at the same time, gaze at the boats.

I thought about taking one out to shore,
if only any belonged to me,
with an initial of my name.
I chose to watch the others

load their possessions and ride off,
to where I understood how far I was
from them, and could only turn around
back to the countryside, back home.

Through time, I paced; through I, time passed,
and perhaps it all happened too fast.
If not for today, it would merely make sense,
and I would find myself in a different day.

The Wolf

There is a great, black beast
brushing his fur against the door.

He listens for an answer,
a quivering breath, a whisper.

Sometimes he paces the hall;
sometimes he waits.

I lock my lungs ever so still
for no subtle movement at all

and the clock holds eleven-ten
for eleven whole minutes long.

He knocks once. He knocks twice,
the second louder than its last.

His shadow casts orange light,
like an October moon.

It moves from quarter, to crescent,
to new, and stays as the room darkens.

Before We Die

we are fires
burning in a forest
of wild moose and cabins
tearing bark from old pines 

we are black smoke
in early daylight
disguising the beauty
around us

weeds are tainted yellow
and raw

flowers cry
we hurt what is innocent


and slowly




die

Pandora's Box

dark one, hidden beneath
the esophagus. Unhooked
and ignited, she opens
and cries softly for life.
Her words die easily, push
back inside, unheard and
often misunderstood like
foreigners in the countryside,
torn like the head of a hunted
deer, blood trails in runny snow...
consequences rush.

Two Ghosts

Response to Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art"

For all we lose, we find another,
when two ghosts fall from all you knew,
but let us know what is no disaster.

When two ghosts have drowned forever,
the sea will bring something new;
keep head over water, try not to falter.

For all we lose, we find another.
Sail in one direction—more forward, leave two
ghosts behind, heads tearing crookedly where

they will float, lonely, to wherever,
leaving you icy, porcelain-blue,
but let us know what is no disaster.

Know they are gone now and will never
leave again. They are two to say you outgrew,
two waves, washed away offshore.

For all we lose, we find another;
like the current that flows east onto
a foreign beach of burning fire,
after you lose two ghosts (you love) forever.