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| lilikoi @ Esalen |
The moon’s cool cream pocket has brimmed
& bottled the choir of evening crows.
It’s merely urban citizenry,
crepuscular filibustery.
Who made it my lamplighter
& why does it lampoon me?
Or is this a koan conjuring
vexing voodoo for me?
Weather
When friends put sail to their catamaran
I’m mildly troubled but not worried.
If anyone knows how
they
do, still, chancing it
on
water, the heave & hum,
liable
to storms
though
short-hauling
they
can know the weather.
Months
now, spring
&
all summer, they’ve made port
in
Portland,
their
Argentine house finished but untried.
Already
it’s August, the month
the
great wind starts.
Orare
for
Argentina
if no one walks the paths,
looks at flowers.
So many things we bought
there, took there,
what’s missing in our life —
the photo purchased in Carolina —
a sun-blacked heron,
an algae-green pond.
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