Afterward We Drink Cup After Cup of Mint Tea

I wander narrow streets.

An old vendor's delicate hands

winnow spices in burlap bags. 

A turquoise arch above a dark stairway.

Veils hide nothing that can't be said 

with the eyes. I have to look away.

In the corner a mahogany Victrola,

the needle bobbing on the surface 

of a black sea. Scheherazade.

She takes oils from a scrolled box,
jangles follow her movements,

faint tremors across my skin.

A donkey brays in the street.

I will remain lost here

for as long as it takes.

rain

and sunshine

a bridge
to an open field

still married

winter morning--
I look out window, someone
shook the snow globe

mistletoe
he carries
his own

each sunny wish
thrown to the wind...
thousands more

winter morning--
I let my heart fly
with the geese

lost in worry--
geese charge across the sky
honking, then gone

turtle

agoraphobic
either in your shell
or deadheading
for nearest secluded pond
plodding fortress 

of introversion

wild fruit the need to sacrifice all

humid slow enough to speak with the dead

driftwood this world is not my home

rip tide--
letting it take me
to another shore

for each forgotten thing a crow caws

autumn forgotten things piling up

poor wolf--
the redhead's
a cougar

crows
burst into flight--
last breath

mother--
distant moon
in my eyes

twilight--
carrying away the sun
slow moving train

cold rain no one wants to fight

I am not the instrument
the instrument is not me
I am flesh
it is wood
I want to touch
it wants to be touched
I come to it helplessly
it waits for me
in silence
pregnant with music

tattoo
on his shoulder blade--
a haiku

autumn--
shadows linger
in the leaves

in the end
such joyful colors--
turning leaves

in the kitchen still a boy listening to women

spray paint can
in the Buddha's lap--
empty

lipstick scrawled
on the bedroom mirror--
breaking up

torn silk negligee back to the mirror

cigarette burning in ashtray unanswered phone

 hotel room by the week keeps to himself

when it's gone everybody's a stranger...fool

each fallen leaf
returning to earth--
my sins

autumn--
a little closer
in bed

cigarette burning--
he sings a love song
to no one

kissing
in the rain--
rainbow

pole star--
at the end of the day
back to myself

lightning--
cancer a shadow
on the negative

sickle moon--
cutting through the dark
to the other side

cat curled
in the Buddha's lap--
purr

moon in the leaves--
my hand drifting
through her hair

a scarlet letter
sears his white collar
last kiss

noon
I stand in all
shadows

rabbit wind
trail into bramble
patch of fur

light bulb
glass chrysalis

thirteen ducks
cross the street--
the only thing moving



*last line from Wallace Steven's poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

work ends
the sky stretches before me
all the way home

winter morning--
an abacus of sparrows
on power lines

first snow--
a few white hairs
in my beard

all I want
under the sky--
this moment

blue sky
swallowed by the sea
spitting out clouds

want
the fire inside
turns to ashes

footprints--
still trying to get there
long after I've gone

a single leaf
soaring above me--
wanderlust

honey
do you know where...
on your head

doctor's office
getting sick watching
Fox News

the cousins
I never see anymore--
old elm stump

New Year's Eve
past and future meet
in a kiss

waning moon
she sits in the corner
waiting to be asked

writer's block
building up
to a poem

a dozen roses
blush when I
think of you

autumn the bee's buzz an octave lower

morning fog
last night's dream
in the clearing

cloudy day
under my breath
a song

white clover
all the young girls
in summer

full moon 

so much said 

in silence

full moon
deer licking
a salt block

low tide
my darkest secrets
revealed

my mother's nutcracker
a woodcarving from Africa
of a bare-breasted woman
my wife makes me hide it in the closet
she cracks nuts between her legs

sullen stranger
looming at my back door
filling me with awe
O yellow moon
you take my breath away

left-handed
I write upside-down
a claw
scuttling the sea floor
my name indecipherable


 * a nod to T.S. Eliot

resting against you
I felt the hardness
of old age...
your bare branches
enduring until spring

a pumpkin
on the neighbor's lawn
moon gazing
wishing for a light
within

ghost moon
at the cusp of morning
I drive home
after the graveyard shift
fading in sunlight


from a bridge
I watch you leave
on the riverboat...
a wisp of morning moon adrift
in a crowd of bamboo


he would lift me up
to sit on his shoulder
arms raised
to balance and protect me
the grandpa I never had

to my mother's
mother whose hand I held
while my brother cut
her white hair in a hospital bed
snow drifting on the window ledge

he talks
about the weather
geese overhead