The day turned into the city
and the city turned into the mind
and the moving trucks trumbled along
like loud worries speaking over
the bicycle"s idea
which wove between
the more armored vehicles of expression
and over planks left by the construction workers
on a holiday morning when no work was being done
because no matter the day, we tend towards
remaking parts of it — what we said
or did, or how we looked —
and the buildings were like faces
lining the banks of a parade
obstructing and highlighting each other

Because you used to leaf through the dictionary,
Casually, as someone might in a barber shop, and
Devotedly, as someone might in a sanctuary,
Each letter would still have your attention if not
For the responsibilities life has tightly fit, like
Gears around the cog of you, like so many petals
Hinged on a daisy. That"s why I"ll just use your
Initial. Do you know that in one treasured story, a
Jewish ancestor, horseback in the woods at Yom
Kippur, and stranded without a prayer book,
Looked into the darkness and realized he had

I had just hung up from talking to you
and we had been so immersed in the difficulty
you were facing, and forgive me,
I was thinking that as long as we kept talking,
you in your car in the parking lot of the boys" school
as the afternoon deepened into early evening,
and me in the study, all the books around
that had been sources of beauty to us,
as long as we stayed in the conversation
padded with history like the floor of the pine forest,
as long as I thought out loud, made a joke
at my own expense, you would be harbored in that exchange,

Ticker shift: clockworkaholic heart
expels what blood it admitted & roundabout
the blood slushes sufficient to oxygenate
my morning dream, ratcheting up
its plot"s incidents twice, thrice
too ingenious now to go on: alarm.

Ticker shift: clockworkaholic heart
expels what blood it admitted & roundabout
the blood slushes sufficient to oxygenate
my morning dream, ratcheting up
its plot"s incidents twice, thrice
too ingenious now to go on: alarm.

I will up & scurry my citizenship out of house &

Now, this I like:
snowflakes starting to form
in winter rain.

Narcissus
reflected by a paper door:
white on white.

Autumn wanes.
That man next door —
what is it he does?

Hydrangeas —
the start of a garden
for your retreat.

Ah, the things
they call to mind!
Cherry blossoms.

Fragrance of plum.
Then up pops the sun
on a mountain path.