scurrying about
 “I’m Lost,” he said
He tripped
 field to field
 countryside to countryside
 galaxy to galaxy
“Here I am: lost,” he said

There a garden grows

I blow upon your pinwheel soul
The cattails bunch and swoon
 gently, easy
The lone sailor upon your vast lake
 delights in his full sail
The clouds hurry across the sky
The mountaintops
 receive the lightest touch
  of icy precipitation
Meanwhile, the fish
 swim, pondering your depths,
  undisturbed

Oh, Joy! My broken piñata heart

Black forest
creek churning neath your roots
encircling me with your lofty reach
 toward the heavens
the lavender cloth
 of the universe
  revealing your tender touch
the high–vaulted ceiling of your branches
 wreathed in the fairy–lights
  of the cosmos

Upon the advice of the sage
 Who under–valued himself
I followed my instincts
 to my grandparents’ graves
The largest orange ball I ever saw
 lingered, staring, sunsetless on the horizon
I found myself in a vast tundra
 snow anonymizing the headstones
and realized I would never find them

I found myself amid the shrubbery
 Gazing at a statue
 Some ode to summer
  I first thought of Daphne
   the cruel beckoning of innocence
Her regal repose, fully human
 rump reclining atop a vined column
 a jump–rope of flora in her hands
  changed all that
   I thought of Fragonard
Where snow buries graves
 Here, it was petals of the season
  accentuating her flowers
  As white stone escaped
   from the black barnacles of time
    in spectacular bare shoulders
     and graceful arms
Oh, gorgeous stomach
Oh, flowing, robust curves
Oh, folds, enfold me in every part
Oh, neck, throbbing with life
         whose pronounced crook
                        speaks the truth
                        take me

I so wanted to give you
 all the stars in the deep night sky
Those stars God’s already given you

On a lark
found myself
in that dark secret restaurant
no one goes to
I’ll take the soup of the day
 my vain attempt to avoid
 extravagance
And desert to say farewell
 to another lovely person
Yes, I would like fresh ground pepper
 to give the soup some kick
“’O sole mio” belting out into
 the well–appointed empty room
Spinach–lobster soup
 Hearty and delicate
 Plenty of bread with which to dip
 And something in its craftsmanship
Some hidden source of quality
 Slows me
 I shift gears
 Look upon the playing of traffic
  lights refracting through the beveled glass
 Lose myself gazing at the Christmas
  light–encircled tree
And savor
Dip, dip, dip
Savor
Reflect
Gaze
Dip
Spoon

A bit of lightheadedness
some garrulous fullness overtakes me
 This happens on rare occasions
  unexpectedly in exotic places
   That restaurant in Quebec when
    I became giddy
I try to talk to the waiter
 as he is about to remove my bowl
Three times I work my mouth
 before I get the words out
Chocolate sauce for the vanilla pudding with raspberries?

They accommodate me with a delicate dribble
 of chocolate syrup over raspberry sauce
atop a ridiculously small mound of pudding
 and four raspberries
Still overcome by the soup I wait
Allowing more minutes and traffic to pass
 till I gently approach the plate
I carve out one small sliver and
Bomb out in its astonishing taste
 So, time stands still
  nibble by nibble
Each spoonful an era
 Regaling in the comradery of each wafting aria
And cherish every bit
What are those sparkling specks?
 Perhaps some pixie dust laced in it
Now, making it a stranger place,
 My lips start tingling ten seconds after each taste
Is this what life is
 So jam–packed with goodness
 that each tiny sliver is a world of foolishness?
The timeless moment drags on
 Confound it; I can’t finish this song
 I’m too full —
 Not another bite —
Please wrap it up and goodnight

He struggled with himself
Madly wrestling the angel of death
Crazy and lightheaded with exhaustion
With resentful glare
He stood back and lowered his arms
Prone
The other stood calmly proud
 Defenses throbbing away in echoes
 There was never an intent to harm
In this respite:
  “Man, I don’t want to fight you
    — What are we doing?”

Those items that fit me well
 touch my soul
Some spirit of serendipity
 saw to it and allowed our meeting

Perhaps in my loving it
 too much, too long
I wear it bare
Unwilling to part with it
I take it to that little local shop
 or take a needle to it with my novice hand

That once foreign object of love
 Now broken–in
  transfigures into something
  sturdier than when we begin
Those insightful adjustments
 second nature after so much shared trail
 weave into the mending
Now on our second honeymoon
We find ourselves wholly together

God, I thank thee
 such passionate and sensitive artists
 could express themselves so powerfully
 enough to gather together
 in so suitable a house
 your creatures; my privilege
  to witness and breathe in