June,
stay a while. Linger
with me until the last
bloom on the basswood tree
withers, and the bees move on
to bergamot. I’ll see you
in the jars of cherry jam,
the memories of first potatoes
and toes in cold lake waters.
And later, in December, when it’s hard
to remember what is now or real,
when I look to the night sky above
the frosted field to seek
Orion’s steady guidance, I will hold
the afterimage of sparks in the night
above each creek and stream:
arteries of fireflies, glittering rivers of light.

 

We sat across from one another at a local bakery,
two isolatos on distant sides of a big marble table.
You were narrow shouldered, lean, almost emaciated,
wore a tight nylon shirt and a biking cap,
had gaudy rings on half your dirty fingers.
I watched you spill tobacco from a pouch,
shred the leaves as if washing your hands
in the heaped-up pile
then roll yourself a cigarette.

I should have let you be,
but you gave off so much energy,
took up so little space,
I figured I had something elemental to learn.
You raised your head reluctantly,
I put my earphones down.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” you said.
“But you already know that.”

You were a master of ending conversations, I decided.
Still, I lingered at your last sentence,
stared a little too long,
wondered what I was missing.
Your face was creased, pinched,
perhaps a puzzle, perhaps no different than mine,
dangerous, though only if you could see past yourself.
Thinking you might have more to say I watched
you sweep up your tobacco, pocket your tools,
walk away.

You didn’t go far. I could see you
fifty feet from my side of the window
enjoying a cigarette that floated on the end of a silver holder.
I was surprised by your flair,
expected burnt fingers and narrowed eyes
agitation and movement
a muttering monologue to the universe.

But you were on your knees now,
drawing a portrait
of the earth I learned later,
using chalk on a canvas of concrete,
circling your globe
with a description of your own struggles.
I looked up just as you bowed to the ground
and blew away the excess,
igniting a puff-explosion
of blue-green dust.

to begin when you don’t know what the deal is,

or if there’s a deal,

nobody’s saying it’s a deal,

or we have a deal,

I mean there are times when you think you’re agreeing to something that isn’t even on the table—

sometimes what you’re afraid of resembles something you need,

as when you’re holding onto what you’re afraid of.

What if you’re afraid not to?

When you don’t know what’s going to happen you think about all the things you don’t even know,

as if the deal is a passenger on the way somewhere,

or a gift given to you

and taken back,

it’s not the kind of completeness you don’t even need to pay attention to.

In a deal you have to give something up,

when it’s a deal

there are sacrifices on both sides,

although it’s not much of a deal if you don’t know what the terms are, or what you’re agreeing to,

even when you’re walking up the mountain with the child,

even when you’re standing in front of the table in the open field with corners curved like the top of a radiator,

it’s not a deal when you don’t even know what’s going to happen,

I mean the whole point of the deal is to eliminate the uncertainty that’s present in the absence of a deal.

Or is the uncertainty a candle you light when it’s too dark to see anything else?

You’re not even sure what you need to be afraid of,

or if you’re sorry because it’s not the deal you actually made,

or sorry because it isn’t a better deal,

there are times when you give something away even though you don’t expect it to be taken,

it’s only a gesture or performance,

putting it aside,

like any sacrifice you don’t need to make.

What a luxurious bed
       and through that window
              the sea
              seagulls
              an eagle at one point
       white tail feathers flashing
              in the light
                     broken in clouds
and what a scene
       as the tide surges in
              seals barking on the rocks
       and the tulips
              in the painting by the window
                     glowing like an X-Ray
the walls burning
       then falling away