Friday, February 28, 2014

Sometimes, When She's Nude

Sometimes, when she’s nude, a blue
illumination comes to visit. Although
it never comes when she is clothed,
it doesn’t seem betrothed to any prurience.

So she goes back to savoring the sheer
luxuriance of her bright orange hair,
and she forgets that she is bare. Soon
she hardly notices the blue glow’s stare.


Thursday, February 27, 2014

Your Memory of Youth

Faint yellow, like a breed of northern morning sun,
elongated and distorted and yet beautiful, your memory
of youth consorts with you as if it’s hiding in a funhouse
mirror. Its sheerer sweeter lucency comes clearer

as you near the wide and unresisting eyes. You look
into them, find them wiser than you were prepared for.
Poreless skin is bared for you, its silken tightness beckons
like a stream of consciousness too warm and odd to enter.

It is the center of a pure circumference in which you
have no place. Except within the grace of soul,
which knows it, and which knows it whole. But you are
only mortal, and you’re old. Your memory grows cold.


Wednesday, February 26, 2014

He Lived Up on a Flagpole

He lived up on a flagpole.
He liked it for the view.
It lent him sweet perspective
to see and join the blue

warm sky in Spring.
Except it wasn’t Spring.
The sky was blue but cold.
Not the day, one might well

say, to be flagpoled.
But there he was
and there he’d be:
beautifully adapting

to inconstancy, thick limbs,
all serpentine and gold.
He didn’t mind the cold pole’s
sway. He’d wait for May.