Were I to live
As long as Edith Wharton
Fifteen years remain

And while I imagine
Thirty more, I might be

Yet more than that
Becomes for others
A life as burden

Forgive us this Body
That drinks at troughs
Just like a god.

February 17, 2019

It’s the day
I owe you a poem

There were some words
the other day
wandered off now

Once spoken
they’d stick
like me to you, dear

February 14, 2019

Clearstory windows

Some hundreds-year-old house
Clearstory windows
Covered by a bamboo shade
Akilter, akimbo as they always are
Speak of all the mornings light
Penetrating these glazed wonders
Making a slow slide
The gravity of silica
Waving on the way down
Finding new form
Distorting the light
Penetrating again as always
On angles prescribed by celestial
Trips around, yet again
Turning the angle of the sun
Against the side of this house
Unmoved by the centuries
Built by design or happenstance
To accept this light
Unchanged by the ages
Although the interior gutted
With each renovation
That never moved the windows
Hung to accept
In a particular way
Light that never changes
Provides our connection
To those old residents
Who wandered these halls
Created new families
Buried their dead
Lived in light unknowing
A day would come some future
Some changed time
In so many ways
But not the sun.

january 2019