Author: trnsprntmntn

Old Pilgrim

At a certain age, he could no longer sleep,
so he took to walking, in the depth of night

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(Words from Akhmatova)

I found a word, somewhere
by the coast, caught in a bush.
Threading fingers in, I pulled
the word out—it was white.

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On Land

Lizard Point
We came through the mangroves and found him, a bit of dumpling in the broth. Only his head and upper arms still adhered to the sand; the rest of him was lifting in the tide.

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He spent all morning thinking of how to paint her. But the main problem was where. Outdoors seemed obvious; it was a beautiful morning…

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Ambient Scenes

“Yeah, I heard about it already,” Tom said. He didn’t look up. He was reading something on his phone. Then, although I had moved past him to the coffee, he continued, “Mayor’s son. This is gonna be a bad day.”

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Postcard from New York

Ah, Mannahatta (heel) blue skies and the big egg bagel (toe)

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Sparkling Natural Mineral Water

If in the night some distant sparkle
makes clear the extension of space and time,

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Eldridge St.

Our thoughts turned to Eldridge Street,
the first home my parents bought.
My mom analyzed it as
congenitally malformed:

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Warriner Ave.

is a photograph: I can see it

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The cows all dream
of fields extending
in all directions,

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The Farmer’s Children

Two brothers went out to face the cold
It was a moon-frozen night in the country
For a mile they walked barefoot on the road
Until they came to the barn where they would sleep

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Who will I be ten
years from now? How
might

I see that vision,
do I want to
see

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Ocean outside and
I find myself wondering

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On Bodega head
you meet the winds

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Late spring rain

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The wind tonight
is making
conversation—
pushy, loud,
self important,

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The moon is trying
to get my attention
through the window

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The devil you know
is the man who makes a law
that tells women not
to take their bodies

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The softness
of the night

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As the rain
drowns the night

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At the end of the
line, the line twists and becomes

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For Katie

The indentured line
of sky and land and
the running colors—
blue, pink, gray,

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Train Haiku 2

A Paris, encore;
the sky is grayer as we
go north, says Larry

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Train Haiku

Through tunnels toward
Firenze, secretive hills
keep us in the dark

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Over El Paso

This is half
the journey
when the plane
turns over

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Stars over Mexico

Stars over Mexico
and the pure black
of the earth late at night;

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The slab of wing
makes its own
space,

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Jamaica, Queens

Airport hotel after
a missed flight—
beige, brown, and blonde
furnishings and a big TV—

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Santa Ynez Valley

Someday the old pony
in the field will fall asleep

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Our dog dreams
of barking,
of snuffling,
of running;

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Train wail oh lord it’s
a lonely punch in the night

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Joseph Cornell

A bird in a box of snow
and shards of mirror; a border

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Now the scenes
I had not known
would remain
in memory
come back on
call, or maybe
unbidden

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Jesus said, I am
gonna dunk this basketball

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11 East St

Back there where
the bay
window was,
behind
the washing
machine
and next to
the screened
porch. Back there
where the
records were.
Back there
I go in
my mind
and three songs
jump out.

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Sasquatch, holy rover

Sasquatch, holy rover,
you are out there

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Twitter poem

What does a 280-
character poem
look like? Is it
syllabic?

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The plants in the garden
test the night soil, search
the soil with sense beyond

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With Spring in the air
but nights still cold
I wonder how
we will come out
of this sad, numb time.

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New York
was
my dreams

in steel,
glass,
sunset—

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Perhaps the memory begins with
eyes opening to yellow-blue-white daylight.

Perhaps the memory begins as
the towers glow in the window by the bed.

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Road in the Rain

What if I stood on the road in the rain
and looked down the line of white fences,
and what if I stood on the road in the rain
and listened to the palms, palms, palms shake?

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kingdom_republic

outside the nest_the edges_
branches_the slick
rime_dew evaporates_
the sun_claws are prone_

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Watching the
nostalgic
TV law
show, my wife
and I find
ourselves so

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