The Winter of Our Disconnexion
Twice a year
there’s the ritual
of opening or closing
the vents of the house.
In Spring screens go
in, in Fall boards.
Fall is the hardest
season, the cold is
coming and flu
and the insatiate holidays.
My fingers hurt
as I bend to cover
the house’s holes.
As I pull out the old
nails, they scream.
These are ancient acts.
Subjugator
I will
subdue the earth.
I will,
at the very least,
get past
the part
where
you said, I could
never
love you.
I will
wake one morning
with you
undetectable.
We Are All Connected
I wrote a single word
on a fallen leaf
and gave it to my
daughter.
Her tiny hand held
it for a moment and then
it was whisked away,
the wind not a fan of
language or its magic.
I looked for that word
for weeks, I’m sorry to say.
Only yesterday I found a
leaf with writing on it,
which seemed like the
same
leaf. The word was meaningless,
though,
and now I can’t remember
if this is our word or not.
Religion
Tonight
I sleep inside
the
moon’s encirclement.
And
tomorrow I wake
bedewed,
undamned and damp
with the
tears of angels.
