A bear appears out of the night: I hear the crunch of gravel cease as it turns onto my walk, pads up to the door, rears on its hind legs & peers in. I look up from where I sit hunched over my reading in a florescent pool of light. Unreadable eyes, a massive intelligent snout moving from side to side like a blind man’s cane. Do I really hear its hot breath through the screen or just imagine it later? This cave is taken, I say. There’s nothing here for you. It drops to all fours & shuffles off, & I go to the door in time to see its receding shape disappear between the stars.
Maypole
People
have
set up
maypoles;
I resolve
to hide.
I count
myself
a perfect
stone of
heaven,
a park
without
a gate,
a pistol
for pins.
In my
cabin
writing,
I hear
a great
rose
drown
in the
streets.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 1 May 1660.
A Softening
Rain means
you can rinse
the bruise,
means the bird
can gather
itself again
and the hollows
fill with more
than water.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Drunk-think
The day being very pleasant,
I drank like a drunk, very pleasant,
and puzzled about finding out
the meaning of the holes
and merry spigot
in my head.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 30 April 1660.
Hagia Sophia
My daughter leaves again today
for parts abroad— Serbia, Prague,
Turkey, places whose very names reek
of history, streets inlaid with stones
which peasants have trod, where horses
and armies raised the dust, clattering
from one end of the old world to the other:
destroying walls, burning farmland, laying
siege to villages— History describes
the capture of Constantinople, the dome
of the Hagia Sophia glittering against
velvet night like a jewel: how the Sultan
Mehmed promised his troops three days
of unbridled pillage if the city fell,
after which he would claim its contents
himself. Where are those holy
relics now— the resurrection stone,
the Virgin’s milk, the teeth and bones
of saints? In photographs, even the tiles
in the great halls where refugees sang
before they were swallowed are edged
in gold. I want to tell my daughter: look
for the perspiring column in a northwest
courtyard; look for the crying column,
the wishing column— and touch it;
then look for the heavy candlesticks
Suleiman the Magnificent brought back
from Hungary in the 16th century,
which guide books say flank each side
of the mihrab— where pilgrims
stand to pray, turning their faces
like arrows toward home.
~ para kay Julia Katrina
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Spendthrift
“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” ~ Rumi
Take what you can, says the gull
swooping low over the waterfront;
every bird for himself, baby.
Up in the abandoned heron’s nest,
it’s finders, keepers where the squirrels
are foraging. My friend asks how much
ocean can fill the heart’s thimble.
What does it matter, when there is no
ledger capable of taking it into account?
In response to Via Negativa: Banking.
Walkabout
I put on first my
fine cloth cloak,
put on a pack
locked till Tuesday
that I may read
in the open,
keep a fast and
keep from sitting
as if in chains.
I walked
a great while
upon the deck.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 29 April 1660.
Nest
Square of light on the floor, twig
on the branch: most days I
dare not ask for more.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Plenty of Nothing
To play
and gain
and own
no money
exceeding
merry
I sing
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 28 April 1660.
Banking
I put a hat on
for the flock.
They go so high
that others fall,
so high that they
deceive, and I am
so low that I am not
able to escape,
my troubled hopes
made even with
my money.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 27 April 1660.