- for Evan on his 30th

I might appear decisive.
Ideas resting akimbo, black & white,
The passage to an emerald kingdom.

Can I give you a sure thing?
Some solid ground? 
No need.  Instead, what if 

Enigma rings this moment,
Like sunlight rides a forest?
What if edges already meld, 

Like plaid weds flannel?
Then we can court vibrations,
wind kinship in wavelength.

We lift each other up.

I could rise from sandy sediments
Breast bare as a sycamore,
The one down our gravel drive.

She tugs water droplets
Out of the aquifer,
Rock bound for centuries;

Drags them up
Gives them a penthouse view,
Opens her lips, out they go

To float like lost tribes,
To congregate as cloud-bank.
She craves the rain.

We lift each other up.

I could sit like frog, eyes 
Poking out a rippled surface,
Meditating on his digestion.

When in violet flash, a horny dagger
He never sees coming,
Drags him up and out –

Tosses him down its rose gullet
And he’s cooking beyond done
In the foul yellow juices.

He is digestion - coming apart, the 
Molecules of sleek frog re-mingle:
Shaggy gray feathers, stilted legs.

Now he breaks open the air,
One motion, look
It’s a frog with wings.

We lift each other up.


Popular Posts