New Poem

Triptych: Seven Months


1. Therapy


I don't know how I feel
close to you I mean
I talk about it


all the time I say
silence ashes meadow
I say what now


what's the point
what should I know for sure
seven years or thirty


years alone
how to live alone
what the hell is enough


the doc says time
and I say time
to find a new doc

I make a little joke
time's up next week maybe
we can talk about it a little more





2. Here Comes A Regular


Leaflet guy, whatever your intentions,
don’t you fear these squat trucks fashioned from tanks?
Don’t you know they hate your army boots?
The woman with the heavy coat crossing behind you,
to avoid the mid-day sun
folds her newspaper into a cap.
She knows who is arriving late to the bars this afternoon,
which blossoms will upend the cracked pavement.
First the glass, then the leaves that pass, then comes the snow.
So particular, these mysteries of waiting for spring,
like an airplane, to begin again its departures.




3. Seven Months


Silent branches,
ash-white—
no moonlight this winter.



Playing board games,
brewing coffee—
outside, too much winter.



Black tree, green apple—
new tattoo,
same old winter.



Autumn, then winter—
empty branches overhanging
empty train tracks.



Chrysalis of wildflowers
innumerable
in the winter soil—




(note: source of title for #2)