Third Spring 

just as gone

I feel just like arjuna
when he is in the field
or like alice
gerrard upon the
wandering road,
still just as gone —
thru kanawha valley
I chanced to stray
sugar creek
ground me out
brusque
moon w/ a star
in its cup,
wonderful sad.
I can feel it comin
like the back of my hand


 
one thing about forsythia

I saw the first flower of spring today
— forsythia —
horses rushing towards us
gold ring flashed in the air
I was too late, too late
or was I, articulate petals
of forsythia
sea lavender at Swami’s edge
cuts a fine figure gainst the sea
and its road of gold
once my uncle almost drowned
in a two-wave holddown
from that dim memory
a form bobbed up
the shape of my heart
when the moon is bright
I cannot live alone
any more than my poems can




all growed up

tho we fall down
when shame is thick
about our waists
attitudinal
in grim opposition
to the masterworks
of divine centures
ink had flowed
— the only rushing
of my lover’s voice
thru the reeds —
tripled in hindsight
or else calibrate
to a more manageable woe
what mediates entanglement
and could
I walk through
the adumbriated networks
lunar ateliers’
iridescend gondoliers
the color of your truelove’s eyes
god said find a door
and paint it