Daffodils
(in memory of Patricia Lewis Smith, 1953-2005) Time may absolve us of some things we’ve done, If only by its vast indifference; More problematic is the nagging sense Of possibilities forever gone. Bright daffodils on February’s lawn Brim with regrets, for all their innocence— Arrangements that were never sent. Years hence, They will loom large as living comes undone: Soft chalices of golden winter light, Champagne flutes where the wounded may not drink. Try as we may, we never get loss right: It stuns to speechlessness just when we think The future will be bearable, if not...
Read MoreBird and Cows
Poem inspired by the Ken Burns film, “Jazz.” Someone has told him, half in jest, that cows Are very fond of music. Now the “Bird,” Car idling in a midnight pasture, blows Cool alto sax for an astonished herd. Bewildered livestock turn their gaze horn-ward, The jazz man’s leaning figure doubled in The turgid depths of bovine eyes, each chord A galaxy poised waiting to begin. The horn’s unfurling cry is almost human, Decries the agony of what it means To be a cow — and what to be a man — What grand improvisations lie between. The onyx sky transcribes ascending bars Brilliant...
Read MoreMaud Gonne
“…I strove To love you in the old high way of love….” —W.B. Yeats, “Adam’s Curse” In all the photographs her hair is dark, Simply restrained, perhaps a trifle wild; Her eyes — dark too — are eyes that have beguiled A poet’s heart, and known it. Their cold spark Blazes down decades, the emblazoned arc Of meteors through Celtic...
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