(poems of the abandoned or disrupted)
1
From my office
window, angle
of tree limbs in winter
offset by these un-
finished platforms.
2
Like that station
in Pound’s metro:
almost I see
the running stroke:
brush, clumps of color
that could be faces.
3
On summer evenings
if you closed your eyes,
sometimes it’s possible
to imagine standing
by the pillars of much
older ruins.
4
A grid defines
periphery, limits
of what we wanted
to deliver or
enclose.
I kind of like
the unfinished—
how it lapses
into space
at the end.
5
This is
the real
lesson:
levitation
is the dream
of every
earth-
bound
thing.
6
Other than that,
we go about
our business:
no need to oil
our wheels
from too
much
habit.