In the beginning your fathers’ fathers kidnapped heaven And held it for ransom. Open the book, Smell the vellum, touch the ink from the east, look Into the labyrinthine Latin, imagine Walking through its knotted vines and then […]
You hold the bird with open hands Until it flies to distant lands. You love when it returns again, Within your palm, you see it then, But if you try to tightly grasp This gift, embrace it, hold it fast, You lose it by its being too near— By being free, it is more dear. [...]
The mother finds joy in untangling The necklaces. She pulls the silver strands, Unbraiding gently, as if it is her Young daughter’s hair after a day Outdoors. Time is of little importance: […]
We are not all meant for meter, she says. Still, you try on order like a vestment; Long, sober, and reliable, it fits, Or doesn’t—it maddens you like slant rhyme, Like prayers that impossibly find a home Inside the swollen hours of weekdays. […]
The art of loving might look like a bard’s Familiar ballad, playful yet precise— All fingers dancing, never strained by self Or hesitation, fret to joyful fret, A perfect, reckless, troubadour’s delight, Like friends who wonder at the firmament’s Vast steadiness, how it remains the same, Yet never ceases to draw our eyes up. [...]