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We are the Light

“It’s up to poets to revive the gods.”

                        —-Jim Harrison

There are no more gods

to conjure our hope

against this darkness,

no soft rituals

filled with smoke and fire

to sate writhing snakes.

We must shape the dark

to find ourselves

a space to live,

protected from rain

and heat, a space

to sleep and be reborn.

We alone must be

the wood and spark.

(August 29,2019)

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Flux

“the warmth spun by the word

around its center the dream called ourselves”

                        –Tristan Tzara

He steps into seams

to sow a discord,

so as to unravel

that which cannot

be patched with 

threaded needles.

Like veins feed

extremities of flesh,

roots rip into earth

in increments

turning aside the grain

as one would wade

through water, searching.

He knows this as himself:

with walls, without walls,

doors opened, doors closed,

or no doors at all.

He stands within a room.

He confines himself

to his consigned spaces.

His hands rarely held high

in an ecstatic dance, but

tucked tightly together

holding himself wholly.

What walls wait for

him to stand before

dissolve in streams 

winding their way

toward a dead sea.

So it flows, again,

emergent, never 

itself, each moment

becomes the next

excuse for love,

the next consequence

to be sorted

like bits of broken glass

for a new mosaic

scattered across a table.

(August 28, 2019)

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Agoraphobia

Outside,

the trees and bushes seem

to vibrate in the bright heat;

as if any moment, they’ll collapse

into their own shade, exhausted.

*

Inside,

they are framed in the window.

I watch them from across the room

from the chair I’m sitting in.

I am cold in the conditioned air.

*

August

has begun. Soon, I’ll be back

at work, teaching my students

to find meaning in the mundane

details which often overwhelm us.

(August 3, 2019)

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Patchwork

I find a narrative,

as I age, hard

to patch together.

I cannot mend

all that I have

rendered, all

I have misplaced

in anger, and neglect.

I have no prologue

to explain succinctly

each switchback

I have turned along.

It’s easier to see

a moment without a past;

easier to mind the flower

as a petal first falls.

What scars I have

are well hid; no

stars to weave

a pattern in the sky.

(July 31, 2019)