display | more...



Nobody's ever who they were
she wasn't . . . neither was he
Now, lifetimes later, over coffee
he slipped back in as if no time had passed

On a rise of returning bluestream

She curled into the threat of doing this again
luxuriating in someone else's dream
ready once more to believe him

Still, you'd think the Lord would be 
     a little more efficient
          not just some Magic 8-ball

blowing this man back into her life
to and fro like a feather on the wind

She chattered away, whipsawed between 
                                   elation and guilt
no longer the capable woman she had
                                   almost become

From her little mouth, useful in a pinch
a stream of unbelievingly meaningless crap
like Polynesian polkas, or something

He smiled, a bubble of cheerful attentiveness
riding her sentences, those box-car rhythms
the trick is to make yourself small and still
stillness was salutary, like most pain

So they settled into one another
easing into grooves worn wild with time
It was Nature's job to grow over,
turn the past into now

Nature?  You might as well say Love
a Love so swarmingly wasteful
what it sells at a loss,
                  it makes up in volume

The new perishes before the old, though
with no transition save a jump cut
borne only by some trick of mental smoothing

They sat, trading a few last stalling phrases
reluctant to say goodbye
at last the coffee gave out, 
                     along with their words

She couldn't see what she wasn't seeing
inside the mirror was the more likely
of the two unreachable places

a fingercuff that opens instantly,
if only she would stop pulling

You have to squint to tell the difference.