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: Riga
Inexplicably
Inexplicably,
In that large gray canyon
A small, summerlit sound filled the air
Like the scent of lilacs
In Springtime
Inexplicably,
All the jewels of childhood,
All the string and willow whips,
Lay before me, and
All my aching heart sang along
Midsummer, Riga
11 pm in Riga
Windows wide as yawning
Outide it’s as bright as a cloudy day
In St. Louis
Some workmen decide
It’s a fine time to install a kiosk
Across the street
Just because
Drilling, banging, smoking
A marvelous night’s work
No one sleeps
Time enough for that
In winter
I sit up
Banging out poems
With a relentless clatter
Sweet
Sometimes
It’s the sheer staggering
Purity of the indulgence.
Sugar.
Chocolate.
Cream.
A few mint leaves to remind you
Of the sweet mortality
Of all that lives.
The idler in Riga
Yesterday I nearly wept
To hear the ancient tongue
Cascade around my ears
Sublimely ordinary
Plain as a sandy dune
Carved by endless dark winters
Intense like an eternal
Too short summer
So unbearably sweet
The rythms cradled me
The voices called my soul’s name
In tongues yet older
All slung across helplessly
I wept for all that’s gone
All that’s lost
All that’s rediscovered
Ragged by grieving
But still sound still standing
Still
In the fathomless geography of the heart
Are journeys as yet untaken
Rivers yet unrafted to seas
Unstilled by weathering
exiles child 