A PROBLEM WHERE THERE IS NONE

Inconvenient 

though may be, 

there is no reality 

behind the scene;

reality is simply 

the scene 

seen rightly.

The room 

where you and I once sat

all night arguing—

tacking up 

tents, drawing 

boundaries on the thing—

might itself 

have been 

infinite.

But then, we'd have 

to imagine,

so too 

would have been

the elephant. 

YOUR HOME

Your home is not 

a place you can leave; 

your home is that spot 

where you can't stand 

to be, but nevertheless 

can't stop;

it's the position you're in 

and the attention

you command when 

your ship's coming in, 

and it's the face 

that you make 

while their train's 

pulling out—

that grimace of stone

while you wave 

very slow and refuse 

any teardrops, as if 

even the wind should know 

to blow around you 

on the platform,

because you have 

never allowed 

yourself 

to be moved,

and you do not intend 

to start now.

A GOLDEN CIRCLE

At some definite

moment, the object 

of going 

converts

to the triumph of 

making it back. 

Attainment depends 

not on our finally 

heading to the laundromat

but that proximate

uncanny moment when it 

feels like we never left.

In the end, 

it doesn't matter 

how noble the errand—

endeavor alone

is a sentence 

to death; 

to leave 

and come home is 

a sacrament.

MISSTEP

None of us was built 

to remain 

in control. 

Walking tall 

wherever we go is 

nothing 

but a user illusion.

Really, our legs are 

always working 

on making a smooth recovery 

and another clean getaway 

simultaneously.

It's too bad 

how only the occasional 

stumble, 

brutal knee scrape, or loss

of a tooth 

proves the rule.

IMPROVISATION

Sometimes, memory

works less 

like a history book;

more like 

an instrument 

whose stoppers get stuck—

effortlessly regurgitating 

the repertoire 

is an option 

no longer; you must focus 

your face, blow hard, and 

shake into existence 

whatever notes 

you can manage to make

with no reference. 

LEAVE IT ALONE

Perhaps 

to explain away a feeling 

this exact 

by way of a lifetime 

that's far less so

is to come to 

blunt blows 

with a formidable mustang 

in the vain hope 

of taming it

and riding it home;

whereas

to just name it

and give it some space—

is to meet it 

halfway 

with a carrot.

POETIC JUSTICE

Actually, there's no 

such thing as 

Justice in a poem; 

and not so much 

the chiseled beauty 

of Truth 

as a homely fiction 

you come to love 

and trust.

Nucleus meets nucleus—

the two of you 

make life;

word by word, 

you give birth 

to yourself.

After, both 

parents stand 

silent behind, 

knowing 

they must hope

for the best.