January 21, 2020: Transportation Research
If Mme. Maillart had survived and returned from Russia
There might have been lotion in the matrix.
Thin white concrete arches out over a Swiss river.
Seen from above, just a channeled road, smooth and fast
while from below, taught tendon, near-translucent fin
wave and shell
Go closer, and the rock opens into voids, connecting bonds
mysteries of once-liquid stone and hidden steel
studied work of hands and laboratory titrations
1910, 1930, 1950 with strength and healing past 2020
Work of a pioneer: what to make of it?
Discipline day-by-day eludes, but in the impression remains
possibility, opening through to new synergy, bonds
February 2, 2019: to Karen Anderson
Your book was in my bag
that morning I tried a lovely blue
coffee container.
You can guess the rest —
Computer still works, remarkably
its screen speckled, shadowed
I’m learning to move on
adapt to the stained stiff pages
(read Grackle today,
the sound of that word matching
the book’s new texture)
and carry something outside my bag
to the next engagement.
January 27, 2019 – 1 of 2
If the space of our mind is language
and the wounding stories translate,
then the twisting cable of poetry is the line
(dark energy) spanning the wide interstices.
January 27, 2019 – 2 of 2
You want music
or delicious food
dancing? Are you in the mood
to punctuate
or fold a word
and let the pent-up laugh go heard?
Then put down your drill
and get a thrill
with the jig-saw sound your head surrounds
But don’t let’s get started on art
December 6, 2018
On waking, a retinal mark
edged in blue
flattened like an animal skin,
Material—between torn paper and light
You feel it in the backs of your legs
That’s silly, she said
A daughter grows into irony
as the webbed, winged systems
enfold our work
These fragments of a day:
How could we believe
they would hold
as a poem, a song?
October 29, 2018
Saw myself happy
in the restaurant mirror
saw my self
whom I might otherwise ignore
or diminish – but here I was
and was ok.
I mentioned it, not in so many words,
you could read my smile
if you were watching
But you were tired, hot
the food nondescript
my wine order inept.
The sinking sun cast
broad strokes of pink
glowing blue