Makeshift Temples

The statue of the half-bull on this plinth
Regards us as we march in. Not denying
Truths consistent with our fear of dying,
We refuse to give in, sip absinth,
Tend to our garden, planting hyacinth
And watering the ground. We are not crying,
Not ever. Pay attention. Someone's lying,
But not about death. Enter the labyrinth,

Move forward into life, complex and odd,
Replete with aimlessness, coincidence,
Stupid decisions, sitting on the fence,
And makeshift temples to a frozen god.
We are as unlike as peas in a pod.
I have been blessed with undue influence.

Move on

It's been two years now. That's not much time. Love
Remains, it lingers, lingers in the dawn,
Reflecting grass below, dark sky above,
No stars, no moon, no rustling leaves. Move on.
I move, but memory still holds me back,
My recollections of a dancing song
Get brighter though they ought to fade to black,
Leave off shining, go quiet. Move along.
I move again, but uselessly. Let go,
I tell myself, there are no forces massed
To shift you back, to burden you with woe
Like this. What keeps you frozen here? Move past.
I fail to move. I can't forget who's gone,
Who weakens me, whose blood sings out. Move on.

Check This Out

Check this out: I was modelling in clay,
Dull sculptures of the world, an oblong shape
That people say looks more like a green grape
Than Earth, rotating blithely, flying away
Across the universe. A loud blue jay
Announced its presence here, behind the drape,
Just slightly muffled, trying to escape
Through open windows, into the wide grey.

Clouds interfered, but I could see the woods
Beyond the tennis courts, the swimming pool,
And barbed wire, where I used to go to school
And wished for kisses. I gained other goods,
But faced the star chamber members in hoods,
Who criticized my world. I've been a fool.

This Is the Dream

You're wrong, you know. I didn't have that dream,
The one where, wandering the world alone,
I happened on adventures, ate the Stone
Of Knowledge, like the cat swallowed the cream
Meant for others. The past floats up like steam:
I wandered, but I wanted to lie prone
Next to my one true love, breathing ozone
From bright electric lamps that glare and gleam.

This was the dream: sleeping together here,
Sharing the love that dares to speak its name,
Lovemaking while a guttering, weak flame
Dies silently. This is the dream: bright, clear,
Delighting in my homecomings, I fear.
Not so romantic, but mine, just the same.