Half blue day

Got the clouds on a string
(or do they have me)
I don’t know why
or where they’re going
 – what they so burdened dream
in gathering swell, in trailing dissolution
thin hand raised against the sun
where they end and I begin
a perturbation on the face
in the disavowal of their exhalations
gone repletely smoothly
only that 
in the fleet urgence of our conspiracy
their  hesitant pull
so easily lifts

I Saw You In The Curtains Of The Balcony Room

I remade the chair

From a few broad rails

The curtain’s billow and drape

From the goose-down shiver

Of winter’s long-drawn exhalation

The iron bed, stalwart

In curlicues and abandoned heaps

That you, in your cool insistence

Preferred neatly folded

I was never like that –fool

You admonish with the laughter of the imagined dead

In that cloud-drift adumbration


Could not remake the stillness of your face