Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Barry Spacks, death, friendship, poet, poetry on January 29, 2014| 4 Comments »
for Barry Spacks
the last poem he wrote
to me was in pen, about tears—
indelible metaphor
*
his words like bathtub
rings on my mind, nothing
will rub them out
*
meanwhile, our flesh
is written in lead and is already
nearly erased
*
sometimes I would
curl inside his words and make
a home there
*
into my breath
he tattooed
kindness
*
sometimes his words
would curl inside me
and then explode
*
not any of these words
the right words
oh sad alphabet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged allowing, Barry Spacks, emptiness, flow, less is more, nothing, spirituality on October 9, 2012| 2 Comments »
The great gift, contrary to assumption,
is to disappear.
—Barry Spacks, The Pleasures of Flow
Like the scent of lemon
once intense in bare hands.
Like cottonwood leaves—
how they flee
first in heaps
and then one
by one
leaving empty
degrees of space.
Like the last note
of the solo cello
after the bow
has stilled.
Like stars
in the face
of one
great star
so close
to us.
Like
the taste
of a kiss
that persists
long after
the lips
are
gone.