Fragments

•

That clench
at the stomach,
tremor of the hand,
jackhammer
at the temple
is just me
coming back
to life
again.

•

February-2003

The kettle spits
steam like an angry cat.
This is the nadir
for body and soul-
when skin is stretched thin
as a threadbare sweater,
when rage long held in
spills out,
when those who
are going to die
die.

•

Living Alone

I check the refrigerator
only to realize
how quickly
rot sets in.

•

All night

I stay up reading
like a child
afraid to turn
out the light

•

Spring At Last

The strong snows of winter,
the long rains of spring
have turned the shores of Spy Pond
into a rain forest.
High up in the canopy-
a song bird....

•

The Eleven Thousand

                         Paris, summer 2003
The old ones dying
on their burning beds
hear the muffled voices of children
calling to each other
above the waves,
the smack of a volley ball,
the disco beat,
see lovers
kissing under a blanket,
breathe the rich odor of suntan oil,
the ozone breath of the sea,
imagine cool water
drifting over toes,
toes dug into wet mud,
the light breeze
there along the shore....

•

Inevitable thoughts
when little disablements—
pain, memory, loss, sleeplessness, etc.
are small omens of the event to come—
like the rise and fall
of a seismograph's needle,
letting you know you are in the zone—
waiting for the Big One.