A lizard does not make a sound,
it has no song,
it does not share my love affairs
with flannel sheets,
bearded men, interlocking
silver rings, the moon,
the sea, or ink.
But sitting here the afternoon,
I’ ve come to believe
we do share a love affair
and a belief —
in wink, blink, stone,
and heat.
Also, air.
This is not a fable,
nor is it bliss.
Impatience,
remember this.
Full of strength and laced
with fragility:
the thoroughbred,
the hummingbird,
and all things
cursed
with agility.
I should be diligent and firm,
I know I should, and frowning, too;
again you’ ve failed to clean your room.
Not only that, the evidence
of midnight theft is in your bed —
cracked peanut shells and m& m’ s
are crumbled where you rest your head,
and just above, the windowsill
is crowded with a green giraffe
(who’ s peering through your telescope),
some dominoes, and half a glass
of orange juice. You hungry child,
how could I be uncharmed by this,
your secret world, your happy mess?
The forest is the only place
where green is green and blue is blue.
Walking the forest I have seen
most everything. I’ ve seen a you
with yellow eyes and busted wing.
And deep in the forest, no one knew.
I don’ t buy it, says
the scientist.
Replies the frail
and faithful heart,
it’ s not for sale.
Beneath her nest,
a shrew's head,
a finch's beak
and the bones
of a quail attest
the owl devours
the hour,
and disregards
the rest.
There's nothing more
erotic than
onered
Chilean plum
slumbered in
the brown palm
of the curved
hand of the right
man.
Don’ t get me wrong: I know
that knowledge is power,
that mystery’ s water,
that hunger makes
a gargantuan
lover,
and yes, I’ ve drunk
of the river Lethe,
from the breath of the Celts,
from the echo of
It was the blind girl from the rez who
stole the baker’ s missing bread;
it was the guitar playing fool who crooned
and raced the wild mustangs through our heads.
It was the village idiot who played
his chess without the fool, the bowl
of soup who said too late, too late, too late
to blame the thread, the spoon, the text, the mole.
Beside the waterfall of fallen things
just east of town, it was the bearded man
attaching fallen things to angel’ s wings
while singing legends to the long, long grass.
