196–Jumping Fences

she rises up in me this woman
who rides a wild horse and
doesn’t sit still for anyone
for a couple of years she has
faked an illness said she was
too old and tired, but then this
morning her rain filled mouth began a prattering
as if such speaking would bring back
life which in fact it did sometime
between 8 and noon she was
seen riding a brand new stead
off jumping fences somewhere


Can’t stop staring at the moon,
one day past full, steeped in this feeling
that the world is less divided by cliff and mud ruddled creek
than by frost.

There are barriers, sure—acres on acres
of pricklesome cactus, acres of mesa, trees set with fruit—
that come between what is and what is.

You over there. Me over here.
Between us too much room. And how many worlds
teem between our worlds. And how many ways

I try to straddle, to stretch, to leap like a mare
across the breach. I try to say words that you might say.
I draw your face on top of my face, trace your missing

weight on my skin. Canyon to canyon.
Desert to grass. I want to know your world.
I want to walk hand in hand

through all this not knowing what comes next.
What comes next. Frost. That is nearly sure.
But after that, let’s not even imagine. Let’s

not dream. Let’s just walk. And walk.
One foot in one world. One foot in another.
Moon on our cheeks. Night in our breath.

As it is even now. Smell of ice.
Spent blossom. Clear sky.

195–Human Something

the losses all come back when
something simple goes away
sorrow is such a human something
the longing for Silvana’s Italian accent
in my ear as she kisses the air next to my face
for Annette’s stories of passion and love beyond
anyone’s boundaries for Robert’s silly grin and
encouraging letters–days spent laying naked in
the mountains on a rock with hawks singing above me
small birds landing beside me to bathe in the light of our
journey together in the wildness that feels like god
brazilian nights of young serenades, moonlit beaches
morning breakfasts cooked by the water
this begins to feel like foundation instead of loss
maybe the soil i’m planted in so instead of a dirge
maybe a prayer of gratitude a taste of water and nectar
on the tongue of my aware i’ll dress in these odd garments
i have been given and give thanks

194–If Wishes Were

she sleeps in our bed while
i write these dreams of more
though arriving here with her
at this late date has given me
all the more i dreamed of for
more than many years
why is it we quarrel letting
this passion turn it’s head
away from ecstasy why is
it that discontent is a rider
in our car on days when
we wish for other things
at my age is early retirement
with no pay i wish i had been
published by now, wish my
work had been more effective
but i do not wish for any other lover

193–Old Enemy

frustration is such an
old enemy draining my
lips of sweet nectar turning
what might be a pleasant
morning into a churning
rejection of april 28th 2010
so I stick out my tongue and
lick you like my 3 year old
granddaughter did to a baby
with beautiful thighs she could
not resist touching them with
her innocent tongue how sweet
you are in a baby’s thigh in the
eye of my enemy who is only
my reflection only my rejection
of this unconditioned love would
deprive me of the sweet strawberry
love that grows like a book in my front yard