62- I One

a new year rings in the ears of this century

our songs have been dirges our losses counted

in dollars and global warming to Her i sing

this morning dawning with Her sun i one

61–Sammy 6:00 A.M.

early morning boy

smiles and sings his hi

his passion for life uninhibited

by ear ache and the we hours

early morning just the two of us

i learn from him smile into the

dark of 6 A.M. delight in Sesame

Street the innocence returned

from sleep dreams unremembered

in a trust so deep he only cries for a

minute when he falls from him

i learn this other part of love

this utter trust in the goodness

of a gorgeous universe

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Seeking Comfort I Look in the Cupboard

I recognized you in the tea this morning,

the twining of black leaves and dried blue petals.

I do not recall what the name of the tea is,

it has been in this cupboard so long, forgotten

in its small clear bag until this morning

when the leaves, like small gnarled hands,

waved to me like you did, was it really so long ago,

or was it just yesterday we became lovers,

oh my love, have we learned—is it always the hard way?—

that to release takes immersion, the scorch of hot water,

that before we can unfurl, we must clench,

that bitter and sweet dance together for a reason—

I can taste it in this cup, this strange ceremony

of steeping, a comforting darkness, the efflorescence of loss.

60–Vulture Culture

my parents well into their 80’s

fight for independence lose

their edge vultures of our

culture descend to take

what’s left  long before

they are gone from

three thousand miles

away my words on the

phone ring empty

59–Mother Loss

2:32 A.M. i wake remembering

how in a tent at Rocky Mountain

National Park you told me your secret

how you conceived and bore a son

at 18 and then gave him up for adoption

how we invent stories that make it all right

virgin birth and yet when you lost your

youngest boy years later and i hardly knew

you anymore, i wondered if your need to find

your first born took you to him

Dammed with ice,

the river chokes on itself,

turns its tongues into their own prison walls;

and using the same language

it invents cracks and channels and leaks through.