OH, WELL, IN THAT CASE
I run my hand along the treetops.
Most else imaginable and un- has already happened.
Maybe now is the time to ask for a pink kayak,
a not-so-secret love.
Did you make your peace with it? pops into mind.
Funny-strange when that happens.
And was the lake glad to see me too?
It brought out all its blues…
One minute I’m home; four hours later, not.
Long or short, between is where the interest lies.
I hope this note finds you well.
When the headache finished with me, I sat right up.
OK, EITHER WAY
It ended with a flutter:
tail of a kite, but your life.
Or, ended for now, this episode;
we’re all storytellers.
If I had my way, someone began,
and I gave up my place in line
rather than listen to that.
Excuses, excuses.
The little hammock of habitual.
I can’t sleep, trying not to care.
Some people get to change.
Anyway, doesn’t matter.
I can do it tomorrow.
It was just an errand.
LITTLE MELANCHOLY
In the etching, that one branch, twisted so.
Or the church bell, like a buoy, ringing out
each good death. Candles all around make it pretty,
but the whole time, me not quite believing.
I wish I had more years with them both, my parents;
and better ones with her… so as to know her some.
The priest said you could wonder, but he doesn’t;
the wind blew the leaves right back onto the lawn.
Behind us, as we go, all things assume pleasing forms,
as clouds do far off. That’s Emerson, in a good mood.
The nineteenth century waxes and wanes.
I’ve looked there, and just about everywhere else too.
