The most frequent question

As they have asked
frequently: why
are we here?
For money, happiness,
to hear our hearts beat,
win or lose some
thing—anything—
He looks up
blood on His face
the answer in His eyes:
but we look away
and ask again.






May 2019

Downhill momentums

Do you remember running
downhill so fast as a kid
thin knees knocking
together like sticks
too quick to balance?
Your feet fall behind you
with two long last steps;
the blood runs down
shins and elbows, like
water out of the pool.
It hasn’t changed, only
now the pavement is
deadlines and duties;
we bleed money, or stress,
running down the sides
of our children and loves.
If there was a soft yard
an easy way to land
that would not scrape us—
we’d always take it.
That too hasn’t changed
though soft yards seem fewer
and sometimes sharp things
hide in the grass.








May 2019

Spaceman

In space
Among the roots of the trees
Fixing the plumbing
I finally remembered
Where I put my dreams.
It didn’t matter, now—
The world had become
All puppets and pawns,
But it was nice to know.
This was now:
It only happens once,
And not very frequently.

May 2019

Streamshore Displacement

Feet wet with walking in the morning grass
I stop at the stream and you carry on
Water lapping against your 5-year-old knees.
In years past I plunged straight in,
But that innocence is gone: now from the shore
I offer advice; permission; limitations.
Like scrubbing out a stubborn stain, your joy
Splashes in the cold pools and waterfalls,
A world of possibility, free pebbles underfoot
With no sins. Uneasily, it overtakes me:
First stooping down to pluck a tossing rock
Then gingerly stepping out on mossy stones.
I plant my sneakers in slippery places;
Shift my weight; switch feet, then spring!
—Expecting worse, as I too often do,
The foothold stays: delivers me with grace
To the far shore. Then I am both here and not:
Within and past this moment of your joy,
Double-exposed to childhood and malaise.
You hold a rock up over your head and
Bring it down with a tremendous splash,
Displacing water and my gravitas.
Your face beams with pride and abandon:
My soul is with you, barefoot boy in a frigid stream
Despite my stubborn body on the shore.










May 2019

fatherhood

all i can say is that
i feel like something
broke, because it
was different: playful,
before, and now—

looking up—
I can only think in pale lines
heavy with context
and fears





May 2019

economies of pale

there exist such riches
as cheapen the Earth her spin;
not held or won, but discovered
explicit to the world within.

a color
to make all other vision
fading pale-grain film;

a melody
to make all other songs
a whistling echo din.

--the shutter clicks
before our brains receive
the signal; this treasure
only unknown perceived.

a thought
to make all other ideas
mocking juvenile patter;

a taste
to make all other wine
stale, tepid water.

splendid things, or poison?
though great beauty blinds,
so do cancers and toxins;
how are we poor judges kind?










may 2019

this next life

when it hits without warning
an echo from forgotten depths
you might look about, dismayed—
trying to understand. unasked, it
inhabits you; overwhelms; disorients.
stare across this strange skyline
and feel unmistakably home,
knowing every crevice in the path:
we probably always have;
we probably always will;
we probably never will know why.
then, shifting your weight,
return back to expected things.




May 2019