The eternal teenager thanks G-d
You have given me
words to play with
and windy gift
Modern pastoral
Every time a bug
smacks bridge, cheek, or lid,
flies into my mouth,
I breathe a sigh of relief
River of gladness
It’s late. I’ve tried heroic
measures: shaking my wrist out,
lining up words and treasures
Jetsam on paper, harder than thought
What I long to say’s like water,
can’t be caught. Settles in low places,
can’t be found
Slakes thirst of trees, deep
underground
The citizens of imagination speak
Our nourishment is fire is flood
the zephyr freedom of a perfect line
world wonders from the poet’s inner empire
a bee-like song
hymning the nectar of a hidden flower
no food illegal
O, life-blood language!
Subtly releasing us
from death of matter
Recognition (for W.)
Your surprising enthusiasm
a sister to mine
in a strong light
Mi-amer
Dreamy images don’t
make babies.
Otherwise I’d be
cooking breakfast for a crowd.
Poems,
though hungry at times,
are more portable.
It is a good life, this.
Still, sometimes:
sadness
Cryptography
You write a coded message
Time slows
I suddenly see all that’s wrong with the world
and I’ve lost what is right
Your algorithm is intricate
You start shouting
But I don’t understand
what, who, or where
Only sensitive information
and something amiss
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