let's see what we can do

articulating wrong from right
attempting calm in midst of fright
distinguishing a shaft of light -
it's not just point of view.

loosening what's far too tight
corrective lenses, better sight
bringing gentleness to might -
if we won't work, then who?

finding in the wind, a kite
digging in the dark for bright
gardening instead of blight -
i'm just the same as you.

no more black and no more white
climbing for much more than height
a life more sensuous than slight -
let's see what we can do.

d is for disorder

the dilemma of dawn
drooping eyelids
doped up on lemon drops
another day dreaming, then
decaf
distance, Delta, drumming fingers on a dashboard,
deafening silence
delay
dwindling dinero
a drop of rain, then deluge
downtown, dress shoes, desk chair, deadlines
dipshit
dogshit
dull as nails
deliver me Jesus
Dunkin' Donuts despair
ding-dong
dead-on
dictionary.com
different, deliberate, de facto
a little dab'll do ya
dimly lit doorway
do-re-mi
don't miss a thing
diameter of an eyelid
divorce from the drama
damage control
decisions decisions
dipping the toe in, then diving
indeed
in deed
dew on a dried-out deck
do-re-mi
discovering dimes in the duvet
dactyls
digging in
no dicking around
decide
decide
no discussion
duet
de-lovely
delicious
DNA
dahlias and daffodils
dancing
delight
deciphering the noise
a single drumbeat
a decibel of desire
i declare

what carries me

i notice how, just moments before skipping,
river stones can come alive in my hands,
as if they can't believe their luck,
the possibility of this one slim chance
for flight, and how far I might be able
to get them, how deep in the river they'll go once thrown.

what i love is how buttery they are,
basic and light as wings, a beautiful sphere of aerodynamics,
and it's so easy, so easy then
to just let go.

what carries me are the stone and the river.
what carries me is the flight, the possibility, the depth.
what carries me is the way the arms swing back just so,
the silk of the water's surface, the aim,
the slicing through of air.

what carries me is the trail, the way in,
that old sign that tells me how many miles to this or that.
what carries me is how else to get there.

what carries me is the map.
what carries me is maplessness.
what carries me are lungs and nothing but the wind.
what carries me is hunger.
what carries me is longing.
what carries me is a dark house.
what carries me is a porchlight, blazing.

the C word

in 4th grade, at the movies with Warren Findley
not quite watching Return of the Jedi and volleying,
instead, with the popcorn on his lap
and the Sour Patch kids on mine,
we did, for a brief, timidly sexual moment,
ignore the treasure of our snacks for the
blind, clumsy opportunity
to hold hands.

i remember thinking his fingers were warm,
too warm, not exactly the kind I wanted to rub my fingers against,
the warmth only pre-teen boys could have,
a damp, conspicuous warmth,
an ambitious, mismanaged warmth,
warmth that wanted too much too soon,
the prelude to a heat that could seal you off,
cut out your air supply, leave you oxygen-less.

and just as Darth Vader, unmasked, began his gasping decline,
exposed to an atmosphere he couldn't breathe in to survive,
i, too, felt my body morph into a molecule edema,
swelling past its limit, losing its crucial tether to my seat.

and because i couldn't bear to float that far away,
and because I was 10 and not used to any of this,
i had no choice but to drop the whole of Warren's overheated hands,
covering my tracks with a feigned attempt
to pluck the choice Sour Patch colors from the box,
rub my own over-buttery palms against a fresh napkin.

i realized, even in my nascent adolescence,
how any commitment could feel like
the opposite of simplicity and safety,
and how much it would take to convince me to hang on
even longer.

these twenty minutes

Watching the sun go down
is not always the cat's meow,
some righteous, revelatory moment
that catches your breath in such a way
it makes you think, my GOD,
isn't this world just so ASTONISHING,
and aren't I just so darned lucky to be
right here, right now, and isn't it all
just about the patience, and timing,
and the need to slow down and
show your damn gratitude once in awhile,
and look, dear, look at the beautiful thing
just to the left of us, and look at the
hard but beautiful truth just to the right,
and the luck, and the wisdom, and the rightness
of THIS VERY MOMENT, and I am just going to sit here
and ENJOY IT ALL, and APPRECIATE NATURE and
FIND MY INNER HAPPINESS reflected in it,
and go about my business afterward knowing
I was made better by simply PAYING ATTENTION!

You know what?
Sometimes that's bullshit.

Sometimes the sun going down means
you've got just these twenty minutes
to get the last light for tennis or go for a run
or miss the evening commute or make the movie
or get to the store before the mad rush
or leave something permanent behind,
any piecemeal shred of the day's creation.

Sometimes, you think, twenty minutes isn't nearly
enough, and there's so much to do still, and
the sky is dwindling into obscurity, which means
a part of you is dwindling into obscurity, too,
you feel it, and want to give the sun a run for its money,
you want to make the big move, paint the broadest, brightest stroke,
put your whole body on the line to prove to yourself
you are still here, vigorous, permanent, hands as big as mountains,
heart impermeable to disappointment,
something of you never leaving you, ever,
and all of you holding fast, holding still, holding on.

no one could possibly

sometimes, i am such a terrible excuse for a wall,
scavenging the grounds of an argument,
finding myself on the verge of climactic ruin,
some broiling trouble underneath
and rising up like some spiny thing,
drawing back my quiver of arrows,
ready for the battle that would fissure us
into jagged, babbling continents.

then, tilting on hind legs, i realize
i have neither language nor grace
to keep myself upright.

and i give you a look that says stay away,
a look that says i'm out of here, done,
a look that tells you i'm crawling back
into my tiny, naked shell, where no one but me
could possibly find comfort.

buoyant, intractable as an otter,
you swim to the very lip
of this volcano, turn belly up,
toward the fullest measure of heat, and say,
no.
i'm coming with you.