I left the room. He followed. I poured the coffee. He drank.
I said, What is it that you want? He said, Only what you need in me.
Experience is a word. Words are beautiful.
And that is why I’m a pilgrim in this world.
Cricket in the fern, cricket in the bush —
oh, the lovers who never meet in this world,
turned poets, one by one, like us!
Primitive: Selected Drawings in Pixel, Pencil & Pen, 2010
If this is the letter O,
I can only wonder about the rest of the alphabet,
and what brings on these spells.
In a Vast White Space
A little boy, with a little apple and sticky hands,
busy the spirits about him, busy the wind,
many the voices, solemn, joyous,
in a vast white space,
written in plain white words,
a white ball chased by a wide white hound,
an alphabet of snow,
and you, with your funny little arrows,
ink-tipped, turned upon yourself,
in a vast white space, an apple,
Recently Banned Literature, June 2, 2014
(written on the nineteenth anniversary of my father’s death)
More Than Anything
Love does not say, “See the bad man.”
Love says, “Come, let us find the good in ourselves.”
Love does not heap shame on those who are lost.
Love remains near, that they may be found.
Love does not say, “This one, but not this one.”
Love says, “In good time, all.”
Love does not wait with a flag at the wall.
Love is a lantern in your heart, filled with starlight.
Love does not say, “Peace is a dream.”
Love says, “Love, more than anything.”
To the blue, I leave you, and to the oranges and reds.
For you know where the peaches fell,
And where the plums, and the pomegranates, bled.
How pale is wish, and hope,
in light of pain and sweet surprise.
How useless is want,
at the glorious tremor of a need.
When I say is, of course I mean seems.
If I am what I eat, I would rather be a bowl of ripe berries than a plate of spiced beef.
If I am what I think, I would rather be a waterfall than a flag or a border.
If I am what I believe, I would rather be free than blind reason and order.