The Light Flickers

I enter through a doorway, beside which
Bear cubs deploy themselves in solemn rows,
Watching the comings, goings, ebbs and flows,
Catastrophes, and holidays. The pitch
Is much too high. We emulate the rich,
But we are not rich. Where the money goes
Is no one’s business, so nobody knows.
The light flickers. Who’s standing by the switch?

They say the world is rushing to its end,
But all I see is darkness. I abjure
The light, and still the future is unsure:
They’re telling me I’m going to need a friend
To carry all my money, but I spend
So little that I might as well be poor.

In Kindness

It isn’t that remarkable to find
Nine hundred or so sonnets in one place;
Myself, I now believe the human race
May have been preternaturally designed
To crave more sonnets, to enrich the mind
With symbolism, metaphors, and grace.
Some people want to purge love, and erase
All of humanity. They are unkind.

And I believe in kindness, above all,
In acts that tie us in a loving knot,
In dreams we share. Those battles that we fought
For truth? Let them all go, hearing the call
Of kindness. Sonnets might seem very small,
But some days poetry is all we’ve got.

When Contemplating Love

Just go ahead: admit impediments;
I don’t agree that true minds should be married.
While thoughts are lost among the sediments,
Our bodies know that justice has miscarried.
Let me remember how your arms hold me,
And gaily set aside the scheming soul.
Your body is the only thing I see
When contemplating love, my only goal.
There are impediments where spirits meet
(So insubstantial a spirit’s existence)
That never sit between us when the heat
Of our desire burns through all our resistance.
Some — never mind who — should be sent to school:
The truth? Like all of us, love is time’s fool.

Through Three Nights

Her shallow breathing left us all unhinged.
How could she bargain, tell us what to do,
Or lift our hearts again? She made it through
Three nights, and now, our expectations tinged
With crazy glee, our undeclared hope singed
As she got worse, we talked about shampoo,
Champagne, sham promises, and I saw you
Spend useless hours on charts and signs. I cringed.

The imbecile in all of us survives,
But please, let’s try to stand aloof. That troop
Of frauds can’t tell us when or whether croup
Will do for us, or avalanche, or knives.
We will not see the ending of our lives
In omens. Kill the duck. Now make some soup.