St Petersburg

They drink tea
in St. Petersburg

remembering conversations
about truth

and if not truth
the desire for truth

and if not desire

Pale Cup

A blue light

you breathing the impossible
flowers under snow.
                       
*

Rain crossed the glass.
Light bloomed
in the pale cup of the room.
Sadness was banished
by the briefest gift
of words.

No Maybes About It

He was sure
he’d seen it
or heard it
or both
:
poetry should be
the linguistic equivalent
of lemon juice
-
aye and no

Kisses

She asked me to do two things before leaving.
One was write a letter. Then she kissed me.
In town, I slipped her letter into the post box, heard it fall.
Across the street a man had stopped with his dog.
Everywhere people were running from the rain.

Wave

Like a patient awaiting surgery
the car sits by the roadside, bonnet up.
Outside it’s dark as June.
With a wave of the hand she declines.

I try not to make the same mistake twice

Something like that.

The Morning of Forgetfulness

Old grey men and the easy money
buried in the folds of your snout,
you look up as if expecting
what might fall-

So I take a painting in the shape
of a bowl of water and let you drink
from the morning of forgetfulness

when everything has been observed,
like the dark river, cattle grazing,
a face, it too deeply furrowed.