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Posts Tagged ‘separation’

 

 

 

Inside

the

wall

between

us

there’s

a

very

thin

room—

let’s

take

two

chairs

and

sit

in

there—

not

on

my

side

nor

yours,

but

wholly

in

the

place

that

divides

us.

I

wonder

how

much

more

clearly

we

will

hear

each

other

without

that

wall

between

us

?

 

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It could be as simple as a log placed over the distance
that separates me from you. A fallen cottonwood tree.

But it’s never that simple, is it. That was not really a question.
Look, I have my shovel, my level, my concrete blocks.

I have support beams and metal straps, planks and nails.
I am ready to do whatever it takes to build this bridge. But it doesn’t

take an engineer to know that foundations need firm, fixed
dry ground. And you and I, we are moving targets.

Whatever I think I know about bridges is not serving me now.
Time to consider a new kind of span. Something elastic,

adaptable, accommodating, and, is it too much to ask,
durable. Perhaps the problem is that we ourselves are the obstacles

we’re trying to cross. We want and don’t want to be close.
We sabotage our chances to meet. I am going to start thinking

in new metaphors. Like migrations. Like rivers. Like wind that churns
and touches and bends every blade of goldening wheat.

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less than the width
of my thumb, the distance between
Venus and the moon—

and you, in arm’s reach,
light years away

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Best Intentions

if the road were shorter
and the time more long,
but the road is not shorter
and the time is ever taken,
I would meet you every day

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Because the boy
has just learned to count,
he points to the stars
and says, “One.”
He does not yet
have a word for two.
Someday, perhaps,
I will be able
to survey
everything I see
and arrive
at the same number.

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Weatherman

It touches everything,
the fog, each tree, each
home, each shoulder,
each street, and drapes
us with uncertainty. It
blurs our lines and softens
the boundary where one thing
ends and another begins—
the boat and the water, the peach
and the branch, the farmer and
the farmer’s wife. Why prefer
a clarity, an empty blue bell-ringing
sky when the fog, it holds
us all so unconditionally.
It will be clear
soon enough.

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The hotel’s sixth floor balcony
is high enough to see the Denver lights
and low enough to look up at the Double Tree sign,

which outshines the exile moon.
The air wears the thickness of city rain
recently fallen with nowhere to seep.

What loneliness cannot be met by the night?
Does dark travel as fast as the speed of light,
or is it the given, the track, the slate?

On Quebec Street, the buses are empty.
They stop at the corner and wait, then go on.
And the night, it somehow holds us all

on our separate stoops, in our separate doors,
on our separate lawns with our separate lives,
hold us all, doesn’t even ask our names.

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in my hands it broke
the spine of the book
with your name on it

*

fallen petals
this table where we were not
eating together

*

beneath the half moon
I breathe in darkness
what’s left is light

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he pushes and he
pushes and he pushes and
he pushes and I
push back and we both topple
tall poppies hacked at the stem

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are you sharing it
with me, this
loneliness?

*

how do they do it,
those birds, keeping a course
through the gale
when even in this still, still room
I can hardly take one step

*

alone is more
alone than
I thought

*

as I fall
I feel how this, too,
is dancing

*

that small voice,
quiet as petals, says
why not be the one
who tears down any wall
that stands between two hearts

*

falling, falling,
I don’t know when I stopped
wanting to be caught

*

new snow in the field
the only tracks there
one woman dancing

*

they sure do mess up
the sheets—excitement
and grief

*

who is the one
that falls and who is the one
who notices her falling

*

midnight.
the power out, I make
of myself a light

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