how long,
how long
you've been gone:
wandering last night
who'd I hear in the
whipping grass &
the ringing wind?
what'd I see
when the full moon
slid behind that fat
cloud? I must be
talking to myself--
who's walking
next to me on this
beaten path? No
one, no
one--a shadow.
a toothless old man,
one-eyed, with a patch,
appears from behind
dumpsters piled high:
"wanderin' again, eh,
sonny boy?" turning--
only the wind, scraps
flashing down the alley.
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Fran
I see my parents still
wailing in the living room Argentina Street,
a grey day, no wind
& out the window traffic flashing past--Aunt Fran's
husband & son Dutch, my older cousin who'd
filled his room with electronics, a genius at 13, killed,
accident in the Rockies,
& she in a hospital, her arm broken--my first
memory of lives, faces swept away from my life--
later, when the sun broke thru,
wonder where we go--I was six--
& after that, Dutch's oak furniture arrived,
his bed to be my bed, his mirror where my face
would stare back, sigh & dream of love--
& Fran, recovered, circled the world alone, sent me
coins from England, Austria, Egypt, Japan,
mysterious envelopes that arrived in the mail
worlds beyond my suburban sidewalks
& mystery gardens where I'd pause
before an open rose & lose a day in dreams--
later, her house burned & she escaped
miraculously, settled & worked in Maryland
as my parents' marriage cracked up,
grandpa died, I raged at fallen love & lost my heart
until, lost, child, I found myself in Sue
& found my father again & heard
my long-lost grandma's sighs & sorrows,
Fran the oldest child who'd seen more
& kept herself apart, learned to be alone--
& after that, after the loss & the fire & years apart,
met her Hale & danced in her 70s like
a teenager, a few years without pain--
a few years blooming in the fullness of her womanhood--
who guesses how much we can know even of those
nearest us, how others cope & sing above their suffering?
she'd refuse a funeral, would
go home to lie with her Hale--
these last months
awaiting an end that now comes swiftly--& I, learning of it,
sit with my sisters & my family, my 50th birthday
stilled with this quiet moment filled with her life,
flocks of birds wheeling in slow motion, hovering around
the feeder in winter snow-
sing light like hands caressing our temples,
stirring the deepest waters where
the faces of our lost loves return--
sing dreams flashing thunder & sighs
where babes still unborn open eyes
naked on a new world, in wonder--
sing love that emerges at dawn where
warm bodies stir in sleep & the simple
wish floats out of the ancestor's eye
to cry anew on a child's tongue as
he gazes on his first full moon over
still waters, waves barely lapping
the shore--sing the shore, that the voyage
end in calm harbor, the sailor free at last,
waiting to assume the stars:
lacking each other, we lack
all that matters, honest love,
the calm heart & clear mind,
for love is a silent voice
that opens us to each other
& to our own tears, through
all the travails & sorrows,
ecstasies & despairs that
shatter a heart & fog a mind
with regrets. so, Fran, farewell--
your deep loves, your genuine voice
& gentle touch are mirrors
where we may search ourselves
on this day where dreams cross
in the long sigh of absence.
dawn at the trail bridge
roiling mirrors passing
faces flow & spin to reflected
sky, rising flame raging over
old trail where antler'd seers
& singers met at sandy shore--
silent dawn as across
the planet tourists search for
waking spirits in hot springs
Nagano baths, & athletes toss
awake in beds famished for
their moment with the world--
silent dawn as sailors peer
over fantail endless waves &
desert beyond--flight crews race
across deck, Iraqis pray
& march, how many more
days?--Clinton & pathetic
intern & Grand Inquisitor
wrapping Gog & Magog in
a fog of sex & accusations--
a mallard & his mate float
downstream to the eddy
at the bend, steam rising over
the wide basin beyond
where currents slow & fill
before fast flashing descent
thru icy air, the banks
castled high with over-
hanging drifts--thin path
turns away to where
driven lovers sigh,
idle engines race out
doors to stoplight
firefight gunning
exhaust soft rage even
in this silence, faces
floating mirrored below,
red circle of flames above.
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