The nerves of lemons, may they
peacefully reveal the limits
of forethought. What is the moment
when it's over? What is the future
when it's ignored? Eating can't
be remembered, not really.

Stan got on the subway in 1967
and got off the planet in 1983.
Where did he go? Does it matter?
He's gone. Was he ever here?
Or ever there? A fashion for two-toned

cars began in the model year of 1955.
Boys sat on hills overlooking the highway
shouting out their names. Ford! Chevy!
Buick! De Soto! Little girls squealed
and jumped up and down.
Now they totter
and smile, at being still alive
and yet, maybe not.
The fog before my eyes, the sudden clarity
through the earphones,
a dance.

7/2010

Boy’s Life

This stem of obvious
cool dark wheels
silence of night clicking open
and clasping shut--
me in my hiding place watching
comings and goings, magical only
because I’m hidden, and it’s night.

I sway in the tree
or huddle in the window-well
with the warm bricks around me,
safe and excited
no one sees me

...

Now the night phases vaguely
outside the melding glass
after another round of noise
beat me near numb,
dumb at the dinner table,
the prattle of forks and tongues.
After another day of busy light
locking me in illusions of action
eyes and mouths everywhere
feet and wheels, hands and money,
opinions and desires
and no one sees me.

no one ever sees me.
I must be hiding still
I must have learned invisibility
too well
the warm bricks around me
swaying in the leaves

To be seen is not to be
much more than a target.
The bigger you are in the plundering eye
the blacker you are
in the hot corona.
Better to eat this candle
and keep hiding in the night.
I trust no one.
The warm darkness around me,
silence in the tree.

7/30/98

Let the buzz slip by
as the flowing architecture
wakes you.
Across the weary fog,
the ancient plot, the passing noise,
the relocated stone, the patient water,
the apples in formation, the air
in retreat. This fervent
dalliance.
The echoes of pain,
the anticipation of everything
changing forever.

7/2010