Because

Because gods are hidden

so well

They don't know themselves 

Because poets are transparent and

everything passes through them

Leaving an essence 

making them 

Kaleidoscopic beings

Because even a garbage truck

with a flashing yellow arrow 

makes music.

Because the Trinidadian Love God

brought fresh warm bagels

Cream cheese and chives

to the office this morning

Because Marsden's music

has set my soul smiling

All over again

Because I saw the sun rise

behind scarlet clouds

and then saw the stars

and the moon's faint circle 

with silvered edge

Because after all you've been through

You are still laughing

Because I love to hear you laugh

Red Dove

I saw a red Dove
that nests in a spruce
that spreads low boughs
over my garden.
And you would say
(as I did)
that it's a Cardinal
with visor shade eyes.
But a Cardinal calls in
a song unmistakable,
long hard notes that
sonic for miles.
When the bird I saw
leaves his shady recline,
he squeaks like a
child squeeze toy
with each beat
of his wings.

But I'm not surprised.
My yard holds magic.
You enter a trance
when you pass by the house
and enter the green
of thirty foot cedars
at the back that dance.
It takes a moment to accept
that the birch has eyes
that open and close
and watch you enter,
then follow you closely
until you leave.

I saw the red Dove
descend in an arc,
a graceful loop like
it had swung off a swing.
And it waddled head bobbing
toward a small boy,
the eternal boy
who always knows why.

I and You and We

If you want to know who I am.
If you really want to know,
how the self is betrayed by crafted appearance;
how the actions are only a ruse.
It is I who observe the passionate play
of the you and the I and the we.
And I am as passive as you could imagine.
You add the context and plot.
You play the roles and you ride the waves
of emotions of fear or elation;
of glands of rejoicing and glands of grief
and I am just he who watches.

Let us sit by the bar of hard drinks.
Until the time comes to go home.
But even then I'll stay for a while
and watch and watch and watch,
until I forget why I was here.
Until I am in the marrow of bones.
Until I am in the thick of the blood.
Until I remember it's time to wake up,
it's time to wake up and go home.

Absence a Presence

The way the air saturates,
flailing out of the mist,
grey into white, fog into sleet,
slush at my feet.

Face stings in the cold,
fresh to my touch,
hair soaked to my scalp,
brain freezing again.

Soaked to my knees.
but my parka is down,
and keeps the core warm.
My cocoon in the storm.

The waters rush like
a thousand whales breaching.
White foam in the night,
no seagulls, no screeching.

I feel your absence a presence
a comfort this wet that
collects at my boots,
keeps me sloshing around.

My Mind Takes Place

Billie Holiday was on the radio.

And I was having a hard time

making my mind take place.

You know, I have my reasons

for the ongoing participation

in this experiential sequence.

Especially, since some (so called)

time has passed.

Nothing is more permanent 

than the temporary.

Like eating bread and 

making no crumbs.

Or, when death will part

us from these kids.

See the bud, it stands

for all things,

even things that don't flower.

Sometimes it's necessary

to re-teach a thing 

It's loveliness.

Wild and Free

Her hair loose in the wind, wild and free.

With top down speeds and open sky night,

warm summer sweat between seat and me,

mapping our lives in broken line light.

With top down speeds in open sky night,

we don't talk, we just want to drive.

Mapping our lives with broken line light,

feeling, not touching, senses alive.

We don't talk, we just want to drive.

Warm summer sweat between her and me.

Feeling, not touching, our senses alive.

She's loose in the wind, wild and free.

Demolished

How did you find your feelings

after the marriage broke down

with your vows long forgotten

when the house and the cars and the cottage

came to claim more meaning

than the last thirty years and the kids

growing up and the dogs and the pups,
long rides in the car in warm summer nights
the windows all down and her feet on your lap,
her hair blowing wild and free.

How in God's name could you watch it all fail,

like the plate glass window after the bullet

with thick bands of tape holding it up

until the window guys came.

How in the hell could you 

keep it together.

You managed, but now,

your soul's in three pieces and

you sit on the street with your 

head in your knees.

Your house is empty and

the lights are turned off.

I hear you cough and

I want to go down 

to see you again

but then

I decide, it's all too much for me.