VERISIMILITUDE
We speak more words than we know,
but enjoy our life. And the melody
of books piling up on our desks.
The giving and taking of dreams,
and the slow drift of serenity
into the corners of a dark but comfortable room.
Yes, this is where it’s at!
The apotheosis of the lamp shade
and the sleep which has no meaning;
yet we respect, nevertheless,
for entirely non-religious reasons.
Clean in our habits, demanding
with those we love, not just making do
with what we’re given but rejoicing…
And on the wall a still-life
of shadows. And at night a star
Burning with a strange intensity
we have discovered we can avoid.
REMEMBER THE TROUBADOURS
The wind howls and the night dances,
and I try to dance with it…
like a tugboat, pulling molasses.
There! The moon smiles like a Buddha.
And the branches wave like wands.
And the stars darken, like closing hands.
Truly, here’s a country for old men
and old women, where leaves die and fall
with the simple beauty of the soulful wren.
But the lark is ascending, its notes unheard.
Grapes languish on the vine.
And love’s on the wing with the wary blackbird.
Tonight’s night’s message is an unspoken word—
If you wish for honey, for ambrosian wine,
sing your own song. This one is mine.
