from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
Can one be wary,
and still be
unconscious?
Words seduce me—
their pulse and purr,
without my awareness.
I know nothing
more than nothing;
this I know.
Someone
somewhere
whispers to me.
(March 12, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change,” a work in progress
I worry too much,
or not enough,
yet do nothing.
Here at home
cats curl
in our laps;
when friends visit,
the table’s full,
laughter and wine
flow unabated.
Far away
along the edges,
below the ice,
cracks appear;
and, the ground shifts
beneath us.
(March 7, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
To pitch lit matches
at gasoline is not the way
to shine a light
on small irritants.
Yet, I have my tinderbox
ready to strike,
my clothes are soaked to skin,
waiting to burn.
(February 21,2019)
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
My voice is not
enough to speak.
(February 29, 2019)
from “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
Hope flourishes
as spring buds appear;
My students grow anxious
as graduation approaches.
(February 20, 2019)
L
The beginning squeezes back
like a hermit crab retreats
deeper into its ever-tightening
shell. This moment opens
into and closes off the last
and next, as we each pretend
we are a cumulative consequence.
God, if extant, does not care
about time and its causes, the click
and clack of the marble rolling
through preordained mechanics,
nor the butterfly landing on her hand.
I fear pat endings’ homilies,
as if someone turns off the lights.
(February 15, 2019)
From “Renditions of Change” a work in progress
Caught in a tight
spiral of self-loathing,
I try to scrape
and cut away
memory,
like a benign tumor.
Yet, I return and return
to each malignant moment,
and paint my face
in ritual guilt,
as if one could absolve
the past, and be free.
(February 12, 2019)
