MATINS
Words crawl
into bed with me
and speak of you
even though
you are not here
and the morning
shines alone
even then
one is grateful
for gods who appear
when summoned
or not
summoned
wordless
as the bedsheet
I lean against
a world raucous
in bomb-blasts, rapings,
another bankruptcy for greed
even then
words creep in
through the window
thinking of sun
shining equally in your face
ELIXIR
How much
would you give
to open a magic tome
and find the remedy for what
you are suffering?
Ideally, two white pills,
a shot, even a suppository
supposing it works.
A face
that looks you
blue in the eye and says,
“It will get better.”
“You are fundamentally sound.”
So much within
the pages
of a book you imagine
having been able
to write
like an angel
whose wings touch
earth every thousand years.
AUBADE
Vouchsafe me a poem
for the morning.
Before the sun
rises and
all demons
have departed
a simple song of
affirmation
that trees
will shake when
leaves fold
their golden hair
waters fleece
the ground waving
shear
a new skin
and you
open my heart like
a scythe
cutting home
TURTLE
Its stomach brushes ground
as by long acquaintance,
one foot then another,
one leaf,
slow digestion, eyes alert
like high-beams
in the wind-swept night,
hard against the air yet
telling
stories as a stained-glass
window, victory
over hastening death,
comrade of dust and mud
and golden squares like armor
glinting whenever sun
arcs its sacrifice—
just so I think of you
unfolding a yellowed piece
of paper, words
you never meant to say
crawling their careful
way into my bone-frame,
softer than
the moon starting
to curl
into dawn