It is hard
and I like
that it’s hard,
this skating
on skis
as fast
as I
can ski,
which means
as deep
as I
can breathe—
my lungs
they heave,
they heave
and burn
and the chest
and its thigh push
and arm pole,
hips rise
and fall,
and mygod
I am flying,
I’m flying,
I’m one with
the fall line,
I’m governed
by gravity,
in awe
how it works
so faithfully,
I am falling,
I’m falling,
I’m being skied,
there is more
than breath
through me.


Johnson and Johnson what does
that mean? a father and son the
elder named John once thought
to be business men the world
swooped them up me and you
believing our babies eyes and
skin in good hands the beautiful
baby pictures now they poison
the medicine we give our most
precious parts to relieve pain
when they are sick from the world
we and the Johnsons have created
I’m asking this question, why not
learn the ways of the willow tree
how she too nurtures her children
loving us as part of her arm making
bark that takes our pain away
mistrusting her we cut from the
roots churning waste for our
dumps we now name land fills
as if the land were empty hungry
needed our garbage to fill her
i lay down and dream of being
cradled in my mother maybe it’s
death i think this morning or
more likely i dream of life
built on the bones of this
garbage we have filled her
with she lifts light from the
spirit that nurtures her a
light our vision can no longer
see patiently she cradles her
sick child knowing she too
might suffer this illness her child has brought home to her

After Talking to Three People in India for Over Three Hours

After Talking to Three People in India for Over Three Hours

The new router, white, sits in the window,
and sends invisible signals to my laptop,
and I have not an inkling how it works.

But it works. All the new numbers—the preferred
DNS, the IPS, the sub-something-or-other—
they’ve all been reassigned and all is right

with the flow of invisible information.
There is so much we cannot see,
but we know when it works. For instance,

the currents of love between you and me.
Surely they are torrential. Surely there
are rapids and waterfalls and deep eddies

and glassine pools where on a clear night
the moon would be perfectly mirrored.
But for all this energy, this gushing,

and these places of gentle hush,
not a thing for the eye to land upon.
Though there is your smile and the way

it spreads to mine. And there is the lilt
in my stride. And there are sometimes the tears
with their long silver trails of salt.

I don’t know, I don’t know how it works,
this invisible flow of love. But sure as my laptop
connects to the modem, it works, oh yes, it does.

And to Think, I Could Spend it With You

Never again a morning
like this one, never, never again,

though the sun will rise again,
and the snow will again refuse to fall,

and the tea will again be laced with cream,
and though you will still be the center

of my circling, and though we might
again reach our hands toward the sky

and hum for the pure joy of humming
there will never again be a morning

like this one, not ever, not as long as we live
and it’s happening, oh! It’s happening.