In the antique shop
on the ground floor
of the building
where my parents lived
the year they married
I thought I heard someone
call my name
as if I lived there
too, so long before
my birth in the camp.
Riga, my Riga
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Tag Archives: love
A minor quartet
The Art of Dreaming I
1. Close your eyes
2. Remember
The Art of Dreaming II
1. Trust your eyes
2. Surrender
The Art of Dreaming III
1. Damn your eyes
2. Carry on
The Art of Dreaming IV
1. Open your eyes
2. Forgive
Nexus
You will understand part of what I say here,
like seeing parts of the river of use to you,
like knowing the rock by the cracks
into which you can squeeze a hand or foot.
Love dissolves walls, but kernels remain.
How can I embrace you, if we become one?
How can I crave your touch, if it is only my own?
For every melding there is a sever,
and for every sever a mending.
It’s a riddle: how can you know a changing fate?
How can you see yourself through your own eyes?
The road moves easily within the fortress skull
One luck-drenched park bench afternoon
while dust drifted in and out of sunbeam
streams eyes closed I dreamed of living
of love-stained moons and lake-bound swoons
and stars so vast so supreme that only
a poor cosmic speck of a remnant spark
unremembered could hope to comprehend it
of the gravity of gravity and all the loose
and hellbound distance between here and now and now
and then the slow sloping dip of the long trip
at a whim an ungrim wager with fate I dreamed
of how in old age our deciduous dreams their bones
still seductive nudge us toward a place arriving
at which we can only look back helpless bemused.
Friday haiku 50
A summer’s longing:
your face to light the darkness.
Tonight, a jealous moon.
