by these candles

so many visions fractured, things
i don’t remember making,
ideas formed before
i knew to say, “remember
that you made these.”
lost and broken

so now, the days of aging,
not a super-sleuth or power-broker,
just a group of limitations
smelling like
the summer came too soon.

i see, though, now
that what is not ideal
can still be interesting;
and that where
warm small moments flow
they flow for you and me

so close your eyes, lay back
and let me trace along with fingertips
the outline of
the pressures you have lived,
those long inhabitants

let me release them from your skin,
for though we need not trade the good for bad,
we can accept the good,
when all the moments
just become the one
this moment
for all time

and by these candles
let us turn to smoke
to smoke and water blending
liquid light
that burns and

rises higher

exigent willows

(this sameness wasn’t old) it was
the shape of our ambivalence
the form of our inheritance
the fate of our strange arguments
about the many and the few
the missing underprivileged
the moral corners cut and edged
the truths forgotten lightly pledged
but here the tumulus lies cold
the anger that has lost its sense
the dark too close and too immense
all willows in their exigence

between the moments

between the moments that we are
come many where we cease to be;
this isn’t paradoxical —
just pauses, bits of entropy

between the moments still and far
we stumble breathless into night;
for we must live in balance on
that space between the darkness and

the light

apposite reflections

maybe, there’s a different way
to be complete and not to be
afraid of what the world might think,

not subject to complicity
in many of the things gone wrong
that mar this day, this place, our view —

yes, maybe, there’s a different way
to really help the actual


a merited disdain

you drove her to a place where she
no longer knew what to believe,
you left her in the corner where
she learned too young to too long grieve

and though she’ll be ok, and you
are not beyond reclaiming,
i feel her hurt in every nerve,
and this is past just blaming —

so if you can, you ought to know:
real enemies are love and pain,
and they will always treat each other
with a merited disdain