North Wind In September

On faint
paths by the sea
now, the firm hips of wild
roses are bare to the north wind,
red, bright

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Crab-Apple Trees Nearing Autumn (a poem of interest)

Heavy with small sour apples—round,
Darkening like clustered bruises
Left by stones of hope thrown daily
Through windows of opportunity
Long-broken—their boughs are bent

As the thin shoulders of old men
Tears—held in silence, brimming
Behind lashes like tangled saplings
Fallen in the bend of a brook—were
Never let to fall upon, never,

Never allowed to flow and sluice
Away years of dusty dreams,
The residue of yesterdays spent
Wishing at dry wells advertised
As cool clear water, sweet for all.

There’s a wind now stirring long grass
Beneath them, and though thin limbs,
Stiff, heavy, may barely move in it,
Some apples will fall. Pick one up,
Throw it through a plate-glass window.

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Piece by Crooked Piece

And now the moon’s long past rising,
The clouds are worn and thin, draggling
Fraying threads of rain behind them
As they move off hesitantly,

Uncertain, random. And shall we,
Can we, do we carry the ornate
Burdens, still, we have gathered,
Piece by crooked piece from fallen
Feathers and too-fathomable
Fathers, coruscating laughter?

Each day we wake and grasp at threads
Thin as rain, try to weave nets that
Might hold us together under
This incurious gaze of stars.

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Monsoon Season

We walk the lonely streets again,
Kissed only by the wanton rain.

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Of Late (August)

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Who needs more than a bench under the trees
At the harbour in a sou’-sou’-west breeze
As the voice of Lucretius slowly grows
Insistent, dark, murmuring wings of crows?

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She Has Drawn

She comes in the night to give you
Blood from her mouth she has drawn
Out of thin veins and arteries
Trailing from bankers and lawyers
As they endeavor daily
To make the city their body;
A pale and prostrate creature
Gasping in the sun, leukemic.

She loves you though she knows you
Only from dreams, a face sleeping
Among the leaves and blossoms in
Gardens beyond low walls where she
Dances with teeth sunk into
White-marbled necks to bring you life.

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Admire the Man

Just admire the man with the mullet
Growing longer in back as he ages;
He turns ever more highbrow in stages
And dies with a spectacular skullet.

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